


Flashfics in the Forever Is Composed Of Nows 'verse

by Bre, So_Caffeinated (so_caffeinated)



Series: Forever Is Composed of Nows [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Prompt Responses, Updated sporadically, Welcome to whatever this is, flashfics, huge variety of lengths, prompts accepted via tumblr, see individual chapters for any applicable warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 83,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_caffeinated/pseuds/So_Caffeinated
Summary: Series of mostly lighter, prompt-driven flashfics set in the FiCoN 'verse. Topics vary by prompt (see individual chapters for warnings). Unbetaed and not edited prior to posting. Some chapters may be used in Pieces of Always if they are useful.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At times, I need to clear my head from the heavier things going on in Pieces of Always and flashfics have proven a great way to do that. For those who are unfamiliar with the concept, flashfics are something written over a specific length of time (often an hour or so) and posted without editing or being proofread. While these should all more-or-less fit with FiCoN's 'canon', some of them are awfully far in the future so keep in mind that things might change subtly by the time we get to some of the further along timeframes. Prompts are always welcome (please send them on my Tumblr! Same user name. Anon is fine and you don't need an account) and I use a random number generator to select which prompt I work on. 
> 
> Sometimes my answers to asks on Tumblr also turn into something fic-like. It's a hard line to draw, at times, so even though it's very poorly laid out, I'd encourage you to explore around there as you might find something fun (though there are spoilers literally everywhere because I'm incapable of keeping my mouth shut).

**Prompt** \- I have a desperate need for one of Will's friends to nonchalantly refer to Felicity as "ur hot stepmom" (thinking it's nbd because it's not like Felicity is his REAL mom) and Will being super grossed out  & horrified bc Felicity is basically his second mom

**Time writing** \- About 15 minutes

**Notes** \- This is by far the least 'fic like' of the stories I'll post, as it was more of an anon response that turned into something story-like. Please forgive that the narrator is 100% just me. That won't be true in future flashfics.

 

 

Imagine his teammates after a game in high school while he’s already sort of on edge because his mom just got married and Felicity is hosting an end-of-season BBQ (because she can open a bag of chips with the best of them, thanks, someone else works the grill) and like … two boys Will is talking to are blatantly checking out her ass while she’s leaning over the picnic table and Will might have to kill the catcher and first baseman, sorry coach.

Think about _after_  that. Think about after one of those horny teenage boys makes a comment about Felicity’s ass or her hips or something extremely lewd. Think about Will bristling and being like “What the hell is wrong with you two?” And they look at each other and one of them goes “Come on, man. You can’t tell me you never thought about it. She’s hot and it’s not like she’s your real mom.” This would be when the yelling and shoving started. I’m not sure Will would throw a punch - he’s more controlled than Nate - but lord he’s pissed. So, _of course_  the parents come break it up because what is even going on, boys? 

So, Felicity’s standing there like demanding an explanation after pulling them apart, Oliver joins a moment later after getting hot dogs off the grill, and everyone is so, so quiet because no one wants to admit what was said which is when one of the girls nearby - because there are always girls nearby Will - chimes in with “They, uh… they were commenting on how well your jeans fit, Mrs. Q.” 

Felicity is like “oh… well they’re tailored, which always helps with the-” and Oliver cuts her off with a gritted “honey… I don’t think that’s what she meant.” And it takes Felicity a second because she’s not thinking of these kids as anything other than little boys. But then she takes in Will glaring daggers at his friends and gritting his teeth while the catcher is blushing and looking to the side and the first baseman just shrugs with this dopey half smile that’s completely unashamed and she’s like “Oh… OH… that is… how do I take that? Is that a compliment? Is it just rude? It’s sort of both. My ass is not there for your appreciation, but also I _am_  pretty proud of it. It’s not easy to get back into shape after three kids, you know.” 

The boys don’t really know what to do with that, because they’d sort of been actively avoiding the idea that she was anyone’s actual mom. That makes it a little weird and her _not_  being scandalized at being objectified actually makes them kind of embarrassed. Oliver’s really not any happier than Will, though, in spite of managing his instincts better. He smiles - it’s not friendly - and says “How about an apology, boys.” It’s hypocritical as hell coming from him, but this is his wife.

The boys mumble apologies, which Felicity takes in stride, and Oliver trades an approving nod with his oldest. Will nods back because they are very much on the same page here. No one gets to talk about Felicity like that. Will moves on to talk to someone else after that, because screw those guys, but Oliver’s reaction is probably more noteworthy. He keeps Felicity at his side the rest of the BBQ and his hand is on her ass more often than not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - ( Weird question ahead ) How did Oliver react to Jules getting her first period? Is he the omg-I-cant-deal-with-this-where-is-Felicity type of dad? Or the crying-because-my-baby-girl-is-growing-up type? Or the supportive sweetie-you-are-a-woman-now-your-body-is-changing, totally OK with buying tampons and chocolate for his daughter?
> 
> Warnings for obvious discussion of periods. Also, I lied because clearly this narrator is just me again.

Jules is 12. She’s home with her dad and her siblings, all three of them. She’s been a grouch all day and Oliver’s kinda worried because what the heck Jules? You’re snapping at people and you’d gotten so much better about relating and being open and now I’m worried that we missed something and it’s all getting worse. She starts bleeding and quietly freaks out but tells no one. She hides in the bathroom for like fifteen minutes wondering what the hell she does until she remembers her mom keeps pads under the sink and thank goodness for that. She fumbles through figuring that out and bypasses tampons because they’re intimidating. She snaps _really hard_  at Ellie after she leaves the bathroom because she’s sort of internally screaming still and on edge and just wants to curl up with her stuffed elephant and buster and hot cocoa and some potato chips, because those sound awesome right now. Ellie’s feelings are hurt _and_ she’s worried, so she goes off to tell Oliver. 

Jules is like _awesome this is totally not what I need right now oh my god_  as she runs to her room to find clean panties and then scurries back to the bathroom to try and scrub the old pair clean (she’s the Arrow’s daughter; she knows to use cold water, so that works out okay but then she has to hide sopping wet panties somewhere and she runs back to her room to do that). She gets back to her room before her dad’s up the stairs, but she knows that’s coming and she just wants to cry because this is big and weird and she’s uncomfortable and she sorta wants her mom but she also just really wants to be alone and possibly eat her weight in fried cheese and chocolate covered-everything. 

Oliver gets there - just like she knew he would - and he’s sooooooo _concerned_  and worried about her and tip-toeing around trying to figure out what’s wrong right up until she starts crying and yells at him “I started - you know… bleeding… like the girly kind… for the first time and I just really don’t want to deal with _people_  right now, okay?” He’s all “…oh…” like a light bulb goes off over his head. He’s a hell of a lot less worried because this… this he can deal with. This he knows how to manage. At least sort of. He’s been with his wife for about 13 years now. This isn’t foreign to him. He asks her if she’s okay and she says “Yes. No… I dunno. Maybe? Am I supposed to hate everything in the whole world because right now I do.” And he tells her that’s okay because it’s probably a little scary and she’s not used to any of this yet. She grumbles that she doesn’t want to get used to it because it sucks. He asks if she wants him to call her mom or her aunt or one of her grandmas and she says no… it’s fine. She just wants her bed and to not feel like she’s being stabbed in the stomach over and over. He tells her to hold that thought and leaves for a few minutes. She wonders where the fuck he went, but really doesn’t care too much except that it makes her want to cry more. Buster’s a whiny mess because his girl is unhappy and when she sits down on her bed he jumps up immediately and rests his head in her lap whimpering up at her in concern. 

By the time her dad gets back, she’s curled up with Buster and her stuffed elephant that the first Ellie left her. She’s uncomfortable and tired, but nowhere near asleep. Her dad’s got a bowl of her mom’s favorite ice cream in hand along with a bag of chips, a coke, some midol and a heating pad. Jules starts crying like the hormonal pre-teen she is when she realizes he left to get things for her to make her feel better. He puts it all on her nightstand and kisses her on the top of her head. He promises her that the other kids will leave her alone and says her mom left work early and she’ll be home soon, just in case she decides she wants her mom after all. Jules cries more and says “yeah, I kinda do, but you being here is a whole lot more helpful than I’d have thought.” And Oliver sits next to her quietly on the bed and strokes her hair with her head in his lap until Felicity gets home and finds them like that. The ice cream by Jules’ bedside is melted by then, but that’s okay. She brought more with her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt- jules meeting amelia for the first time! can't wait to see how jules reacts to will being so smitten with someone else :)
> 
> Writing Time - Hour and fifteen minutes.
> 
> This will definitely be included - with minor changes - in an upcoming chapter of Pieces of Always. And hey! It no longer sounds like I'm just narrating myself.

**June 2036**

Amelia’s hotel isn’t far from the restaurant the girls had picked for brunch. That had been by design. She remembers college and she knows full well how many mimosas the three of them can put away when they get chatting. And they _had_. There’d been laughter and good-natured ribbing and innuendo and a whole lot of spiked orange juice. 

But there had also been something incredibly sobering about the brunch that leaves her half wishing she’d downed a few more glasses and half wishing she’d had one fewer. Her head is foggy right now and she wouldn’t mind either a full on giggly buzz or outright sobriety, but this halfway point is just annoying. 

Starling City’s weather is gorgeous, though. Crisper than she’s used to for June, but that’s global warming for you, and the bright sunshine makes for a fabulous excuse to don her sunglasses and take her time lingering outside. In spite of the fact that she’s not originally from Starling, that she’d only moved here for a job after college - for _the_  job after college - when she sucks in a deep breath of air it smells like home. It doesn’t make sense, but there it is anyhow. Central City has been good to her… very good. Her job, her boyfriend, her _life_  is exactly what she’d wanted. 

But part of her is here. Part of her wants to be at this restaurant every weekend with Celeste and Maggie. Part of her wants a tiny, one-bedroom flat to herself in the trendier part of the arts district. Part of her wants… well, part of her wants something else entire. Another city, another life. 

It’s childish. 

That’s what she decided years ago.

Life is short - life can be _so_  short - and if you sit idly by then all your goals for it will slip right through your fingers. She’s making a difference in Central City. Her work is invaluable. She has a real impact on policy, on people’s lives. She doesn’t have time to entertain ‘what ifs,’ to linger on silly yearnings that can’t go anywhere.

“What the hell makes you so special?”

Amelia jumps at the voice, turning to find one very skeptical looking dark-haired girl leaning against the outside of the restaurant, scrutinizing Amelia like she’s been put under a microscope and she can’t quite figure out what she’s seeing.

“Excuse me?” Amelia asks. Her voice is uneasy and defensive. She’s not prepared for this conversation in any way. 

But then, she thinks Julianna Queen might relish it all the more for that.

The younger girl pushes off the wall and saunters forward, all lithe grace and confidence that Amelia absolutely does not feel in this moment. She’d look dainty if not for the black leather biker jacket and combat boots and her matching unaffected expression. But Amelia suspects that’s an act, an affect put on for the sake of her image. 

She’d know. She does the same professionally on a regular basis. 

“ _You_ ,” Jules says again, folding one arm in front of herself and resting the elbow of her other on her hand as she worries her fingers together like she’s trying to physically sort things out. Amelia’s seen her father do much the same thing while working. “What is it about you that has my brother tied up in knots.”

Thank god for sunglasses, but Amelia can’t credit the mimosas for the sudden color in her cheeks.   

“Maybe you should ask him that,” she replies. It’s clipped, uneasy, and Amelia can feel her spine stiffening at the sense of an impending conflict.

“I think he’s put up with enough shit without me quizzing him about why he’s still mooning after you like an eon after one dance,” Jules scoffs.

“A year,” Amelia responds without even thinking about it. She could kick herself when she realizes what she’s said. She suspects that Julianna Queen is not the sort of person you expose your vulnerabilities to, but it’s too late now. “It’s been a year since we danced, not an eon,” she clarifies. 

Jules cocks her head to the side and looks Amelia up and down like she’s trying to figure out if she’s something she needs to scrape off the bottom of her boot or not.

“A year,” she allows a moment later. “Have you even seen him since then?”

Amelia swallows hard and looks out to the street. Cars hurry by like ants, unaware and going about their business, life on a mission. There’s no one on their side of the street, but there are plenty of people going in and out of the mom-and-pop coffee shop across the way. It’s the stuff of daily life, the ins and outs of a city’s lifeblood. It’s routine. But her moment right now is not. 

“No,” she answers. She doesn’t have to, she knows that, but for all her familiarity with the Queen men, she knows very little of the Queen women besides Moira. 

“And a _year_  later he still looks at you like you’re the only person in the room,” Jules points out. There’s no missing the annoyance in her voice and Amelia can’t deny the truth behind her words, inconvenient though they might be. “And you sit there looking right back at him exactly the same way. Seems to me like the two of you are _still_  dancing.”

God, there’s a thought. Amelia’s head swims at that memory - or maybe the mimosas - and the breath she lets out is a shuddering exhale before looking back to meet Jules’ gaze. 

“Your brother is a fantastic guy,” she allows.

“But, what? Not good enough for you?” Jules challenges. 

“What?” Amelia asks. It comes out on a disbelieving laugh. “What are you even talking ab-”

“ _You_ ,” Jules announces angrily. “You with your high-powered job and important life. Just because he’s a firefighter instead of a doctor or a _senator_  or something. Just because he’s a bastard. You think you’re so high and mighty. So much better than-”

“He doesn’t think that, does he?” Amelia cuts off. She doesn’t give a damn what accusations are being thrown at her, doesn’t care in the least what Jules Queen thinks about her. She doesn’t owe her any explanations. But, God, if that’s what Will thinks. If that’s what he believes, what he _has_  believed for years, she’s not sure how she’ll forgive herself. 

But Jules doesn’t answer directly. Not right away. 

“My brother is better than _all_  of us. He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

“I know that,” Amelia blurts out. It’s painfully, gut-wrenchingly honest. But, God, she does know that. She’s seen it. His devotion to his family, to his job. His commitment as a brother, as a son. She’s seen it. She’s heard about it for years. Little Nate had rambled on about him all summer as he’d poured coffee around city hall years ago. Aside from his… varied romantic history splashing across the tabloids, she’d also seen much of his dedication to his siblings, his coworkers, his _city_  written out in black and white - complete with an accompanying photo of him in uniform, covered in soot and carrying an infant out of a burning building. 

If you want to talk about good men… Will Queen is _prime,_ always has been.

“I’m not… I know I’m not better than him,” Amelia continues, licking her lips. “I’ve never thought that. Not once.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?” Jules asks. “Why the hell are you still dancing?”

She can remember actually dancing with him, can still smell the hint of his cologne, feel the heat of his palm against her back, remember the rush of his breath as he exhaled her name out against her cheek. She dreams about it sometimes. Waking up is always brutal those nights and her boyfriend’s warm embrace is far from what she wants in the quiet, honest cover of night. 

“Dancing is wonderful,” Amelia admits aloud. “It’s fun and it’s… it’s a fantastic escape, but it’s not life.”

“Funny,” Jules says, folding her arms in front of her. “It’s my career, actually.”

Amelia thinks she’d known that, but she’s not certain and she nods her head allowing the other girl’s point. “It’s not _my_  life,” she clarifies. 

“Because your life is all big important things without any art in them? Without any joy or expression?” Jules snorts. 

“I get a lot of joy out of my work,” Amelia bristles. 

“No,” Jules sighs. It’s a pitying noise. “I don’t think you do. I think you get satisfaction and it’s been so long since you’ve had joy instead that you’ve forgotten the difference.”

“You don’t know me,” Amelia tells her angrily - correctly. 

“Sure I do,” Jules scoffs. “I know you very well. You’re… pedestrian. You’re a person who hits the same coffee shop at the same time every day and hurries to be at their desk an hour early. You leave late and take papers home to work on at night. You probably haven’t taken a vacation since you started your job. You screw your boyfriend like clockwork twice a week just because it’s been a few days and you feel like you’re supposed to-”

“ _Excuse_  me”

“-You aren’t exceptional, Amelia. You’re ordinary. And worse, you like it that way. You’re nowhere near good enough for my brother, so _quit dancing_  with him. He deserves better.”

Jules turns to leave at that, content to have the last word. Amelia will never know what it is that makes her speak up, but she knows she can’t allow this to stand. 

“You’re jealous,” she announces. It’s too loud, too sharp, and the incredulous look on Jules’ face when she turns around feels very, very dangerous. 

“You want to say that again?” she asks slowly.

“You are,” Amelia tells her, doubling down and pushing her sunglasses atop her head. “You’re so used to being the most important person in his world and you know I’m a threat to that. Because he _does_ look at me and it’s like nothing exists but us, for an instant, not even you. Because you see us together and you _know_  it could be so much more than just this, you know it could last, could be something real.”

Jules shakes her head, eyes wide and disbelieving as she runs her tongue along her teeth and takes a step closer until their toe-to-toe.

“Oh yeah?” she questions, looking up at Amelia.

“ _Yes_ ,” Amelia replies firmly. 

“Fine,” Jules acknowledges, raising an eyebrow. “Then _prove it_.”

This time, when she turns to go, Amelia lets her have the last word. She’s not sure what she could possibly say to that anyhow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from ishipolivia - AMELIAM. PLEASE GIVE US SOMETHING HAPPY. ANYTHING. LIKE A SMALL SNIPPET/DIALOGUE OF THEIR LIVES TOGETHER. HELL EVEN A LINE OR TWO. PLEASE. SOMETHING HAPPY. SOMETHING GOOD. 
> 
> Notes - All dialogue and super short.

“Forget the game. I don’t think I can be seen with you right now.”

“Because you’re jealous of my shirt?”

“Because I’m… _William Queen_ , I am _not_  jealous of that horrible, terrible-”

“-Fantastically awesome world-record holding jersey?”

“…”

“Fredricks has had the most RBIs of any outfielder in the country for the last _two yea-”_

_“_ Your boy’s a sore loser _and_  a sore winner, just like your team. Fredricks had the worst fielding average on his team last season - a .961, Will - and he was caught stealing more often than even your pitchers, so I think… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sorry, it’s just really stupidly hot when you rattle off sports statistics from the top of your head. Go on. I’m listening and not at all having completely inappropriate thoughts about you in this jersey and nothing else.”

“I am not wearing that jersey.”

“That works, too. The thoughts are just as good with you naked.”

“Didn’t you just say you _weren’t_ thinking those thoughts?”

“I lied, Amelia. I’m thinking those thoughts. I’m thinking them a lot. I’m thinking instead of the jersey I’m wearing right now and instead of going fully naked - as much as I enjoy that very much - you should try on my jersey from college and keep quoting baseball stats to me. I think that’s a really good plan.”

“…We’re gonna miss the game.”

“It’s on tv and we’re recording it.”

“We have third row tickets.”

“I’d really rather have front row tickets for you in my old baseball uniform with the name Queen across your back as you talk about ERAs and RBIs.”

“…”

“Amelia?”

“It’s just a pre-season game. I guess we can miss the first few innings if it means you ditch that terrible jersey.”

“As long as you’re wearing mine.”

“Deal. Now, Will Queen, where’s that college uniform? We need to talk about your homeruns.”

“Odds are looking up for another one in the near future.”

“They are. As long as you ditch that shirt.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Zouriaf - I’m lucky because I’ve gotten to know a thing or two about Beth (mum’s the word but bless her) so going off that ... let’s say Will takes the two of them somewhere & gets caught up talking to a girl across the room and Beth is all ready to swoop in there but Amelia pulls her back because she either A) is enjoying herself watching Will talk his way out of an awkward situation or B) has learned to enjoy a little mischief once in a while and uses the opportunity to take a page from Beth’s book
> 
> Notes - I violated all flashfic rules and spent three days writing this. Oops? SorryNotSorry.
> 
> **EDIT - IMPORTANT NOTE!!** \- As of now, this is AU. The timeframes for Will and Amelia's relationship have shifted and this cannot be edited easily to fit. I'm leaving it up because I love, love, love it, but it no longer works with the timeline (No worries, though. It'll be even better). SO... like, say, the Hogwarts one... this is AU.

**September 2045 - Galloway Position**

There’s a kind of exhilaration whitewater rafting that fifteen-year-old Bethany’s never quite found anywhere else. The rush of the current, the way the whitecaps lap over the edge of the raft and her attention goes hyper-focused on what she’s doing… she loves it. She always has. Hiking is great, rock climbing is better, but whitewater rafting is the best.

She laughs, the spray of the surprisingly cold water peppering her face as they hit a class four rapid aptly named The Undertow and she has to hold on to the rope running along the side of the raft to keep from being bucked off into the water.

“Reverse on this side!” their guide shouts, gesturing to the opposite side of the raft where her big brother is easily doing the work of any two people on the other side. It keeps throwing them off-kilter. There’s too much power to his stroke with the oar and he’s used to his dad levelling that out on the other side, but the only Queen here today is Will.

Well… for now, anyhow. Beth’s pretty sure the woman sitting in front of her is gonna be a Queen before too long. And the thought makes her nearly as giddy as the spray of water splashing her face and the rush of adrenaline as the raft pitches. She loves Amelia, loves how happy Will is with her and Beth is more than ready to interfere to make sure he stays that way.

“Even it out, guys!” the guide yells again from his spot in the back of the raft where he acts like a rudder, controlling their direction as best he can. He’s okay, but Beth’s had way better guides in the past. Including ones who realized she actually knows what she’s doing and used the correct terminology. Then again, maybe it’s not her the guide is dumbing things down for. There’s two other groups on their raft. A young couple with a guy who looks more than a bit terrified - Beth’s pretty sure his boyfriend dragged him on this excursion and it will be their last rafting experience together - and three twenty-something women who seem to have limited experience but the right attitude and focus.

Or… they have the right focus when they’re not blatantly checking out her brother.

Gross.

Like, she’s right here. Can’t they see her? She keeps glaring daggers at them, especially one persistent blonde who looks more interested than her friends. Even if they somehow missed that he’s head over heels for his girlfriend - who is here with him, whose hand he keeps holding and whose thigh he keeps stroking between rapids - they should’ve at least picked up on her. It’s been awhile since she’s played this particular game, but maybe she should imply he’s her dad and try to scare the girl off? It’s always fun, at any rate… Then again, it kind of steps on Amelia’s toes, doesn’t it? That thought sours things slightly for Beth. She doesn’t want to back Amelia into a corner. And, anyhow, it’s not like blonde-who-can’t-take-a-hint can just leave. They’re in the middle of nowhere and pretty much stuck together until dinnertime.

That makes this all a little more challenging…

But she doesn’t have time to focus on the woman sitting behind her brother right now because rafting demands all of her focus. This is a challenging rapid and they nearly get hung up on a large rock, swerving hard with great effort to avoid it. The raft pitches sideways and it’s only Will’s absurdly quick reflexes that keep the woman behind him from being tossed off the raft. He grabs the back of her life jacket and hauls her back to relatively safety.

Of course he does. This is Will. Of course he rescues her. But it does make the woman sigh and bite her lip as she eyes Will’s soaking wet shirt beneath his life jacket and her friend nudges her with a grin.

Yeah, Beth’s gonna have to do something. And it’s probably not gonna be pretty.

It will, however, be fun, which is a whole lot more important in Beth’s book anyhow.  

The rapids give way to small eddies, little miniature whirlpools that barely echo the kind of violence water is capable of. Beth grins and dips her fingers down to break the surface of the water, tempting the current. But it’s just a pale imitation the kind of power the river had shown just moments ago.

“Good job. Now, that side only,” the guide instructs, gesturing toward Amelia and Beth. “We’re headed to shore up there for lunch.”

The raft rocks a little as Will abandons his side of the raft to slide across to Amelia. Beth doesn’t even try to smirk when she casts a glance toward the woman he’d nearly fished out of the river earlier.

“I’ve got this, you know,” Amelia tells Will, smiling over her shoulder at him as he wraps his arms around her and rests his hands around her oar, just beneath her fingers.

“I know,” Will agrees. His smile is soft, genuine in a way Beth doesn’t remember seeing from her brother before Amelia came along. She’d bet good money that Amelia hadn’t been the sort to get pink-cheeked and lean back in a man’s arms with a quiet hum before Will, either, but she surely does that now, her eyes slipping shut as he presses a quick kiss behind her ear. “I just want to get to dry ground,” Will continues in a low murmur that Beth is pretty sure she’s not supposed to be able to hear. “I’m hungry. Could use something to nibble on.” His lips are still brushing Amelia’s neck as he says that and, from where she’s sitting, Beth can see her brother’s girlfriend shudder lightly in response.

Yuuuuuup, she definitely hadn’t been meant to hear that. But Beth sighs with a happy little smile at the private display of affection. They’re just so romantic, like something out of one of her favorite movies or those books of hers that Will’s always rolled his eyes at. It makes a beautiful pang of longing blossom in her chest.

Will comes alive around Amelia. He’s open and happy in a completely different way. The two of them together just can’t keep their eyes off each other or their hands to themselves. It’s little things, mostly: the way Amelia reaches for Will’s fingers to tangle them with hers all the time or how she tends to touch his arm or chest while they talk, the way Will rubs just above her knee when they sit side-by-side or how he rests a hand on the small of her back as they walk. Any distance seems too much between them and Beth wonders if they’d have always been like that or if it’s a product of them taking so very long to figure things out between them.

She wonders if true love is always like that. She wonders if her parents had been like that. She wonders if… well, it doesn’t really matter what she wonders, does it? What matters is that she knows Amelia is it for her brother. Beth’s decided this and so it shall be.

She doesn’t lose. It’s not in her nature and she won’t accept it.

They hit the shore and the guide hops out immediately, tying the raft down as everyone else starts to pile out onto the rocky shoreline. Will immediately takes Amelia’s hand, helping her to solid ground and kissing her softly before turning to offer Beth his hand as well.

“I got it,” Beth declares, waving him off. “Keep your hands on your girl where they belong.”

Will laughs at that, but follows her instructions, tugging Amelia back against him with a grin. He looks younger when he smiles like that, lighter. And he does it all the time now. It’s freer than it had been before, more about his own joy than about trying to entertain his siblings or his niece, and Beth finds, as much as she’s always loved him, she much prefers the current incarnation of her brother to how he’d been previously.

“God, I’m soaked,” Amelia says, wringing out the bottom of her shirt. Will’s grin grows by leaps and bounds and he opens his mouth to say something, but catches Beth’s eye and stops himself. Amelia must have realized precisely what he was going to say because she turns in his arms and pokes his chest with one finger. “Don’t you dare, Will.”

“I said nothing,” he protests, holding both hands up. His grin is mischievous as hell, though, and Beth’s gaze narrows suspiciously at him. “I didn’t!”

“You wanted to,” Amelia says knowingly.

“If you held me accountable for everything I wanted to do, I’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble,” Will laughs. Amelia shoves him lightly and he just laughs harder as he steps back, water lapping at his feet.

“Your sister is here,” Amelia reminds him pointedly.

“Pretty sure if you held her accountable for everything she wanted to do, she’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble too,” Will informs her.

“That’s true,” Beth muses, thinking over exactly what pranks and revenge she’d exact at school if she followed through on every impulse.

“That’s different,” Amelia advises, raising both eyebrows at Will in challenge. She’s smiling, though. She’s pretty much always smiling around Will.

“I know. I know,” Will agrees. He’s working at the fastenings of his life jacket, though, and Beth is strongly reminded that while she might be the more devious of the two of them, it’s not like Will’s at all innocent. Amelia is very quickly distracted by his utterly drenched shirt which is clingy and damned near see-through. Beth rolls her eyes because it’s absurd how easily her brother can sway conversations using his big stupid muscles.

It’s worse when he takes off the shirt entirely and wrings it out in front of himself, water droplets splattering to the pebble-covered rocky beach. Beth’s pretty sure Amelia stops breathing for a second and she definitely hears a sigh from behind her that she attributes to the blonde chick that she knows nothing about but has decided she does not like at all.  

“Huh?” Amelia asks after Will says her name… twice. She looks a little dazed as she licks her lips and her eyes dart back up to her boyfriend’s face. He’s very obviously pleased with himself, grinning widely and puffing his chest out a bit. God, what a peacock he can be.

“You’re such a bastard,” Beth shakes her head at her brother.

Will tilts his head a little toward his baby sister in agreement. “Kind of famously,” he adds. He means that literally, but he also doesn’t take offense to her words at all. Maybe he would have once upon a time, but not in her lifetime. She’s never known her big brother as anything other than well-adjusted and proud of both sides of his family.

Beth raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him and loops her arm around Amelia’s, holding on to the older woman’s elbow. “Come on,” Beth tells her. “Let’s grab our clothes out of the dry bag and go get changed before we prune up.” Her t-shirt is sticking to her skin, the cool snow-melt water of the river quickly heating up under the late summer sunshine and the waterproof life vest she has yet to take off. She really does need to change, but half of her agenda is to get a second with Amelia alone. Her brother’s girlfriend is so damned entranced with him that Beth is pretty sure she hasn’t even noticed the tittering fan-base he’s acquired. But, she also lets herself be dragged along as Beth grabs their dry bag from the raft and heads toward the rather grungy-looking bathroom.

That’s cool, though. At least there is a bathroom. Beth’s gone camping in way, way worse places than this picnic spot and she’s mostly just glad that she doesn’t have to turn her back and hide behind a tree to change.

“You having fun?” Amelia asks, hip-checking her as they stride toward the barely-a-step-up-from-an-outhouse restrooms. The older woman casts one last, long stare over her shoulder at Will before refocusing entirely on Beth. But Beth can tell just from her gait that Amelia’s swaying her hips a bit on purpose and she knows without looking that Will is staring after his girlfriend.

So gross.

Except… except she also loves it. She loves how much Will adores Amelia. She loves Amelia, both for Will and for the role she’s filled in her own life. Beth doesn’t remember her mother. She’s never had anyone like that in her life and she wants to cling to Amelia with both hands and hang on for all she’s worth because she’s so hungry for this kind of relationship that it’s startling.

And she wonders… she wonders… well, it doesn’t matter what she wonders, does it? She’s got Will - who’s sometimes more like a father than her own dad - and she’s got Amelia who she’s fallen into an easy, supportive relationship with. She’ll do anything to keep that. Anything at all.

“So much fun,” Beth confirms. Her fingers curl into the crook of Amelia’s arm a little more as one of the gaggle of girls behind them laughs a little too loudly. She knows Will. She trusts Will. And she knows that Will is madly in love with Amelia. But Beth’s never taken to competition well and she knows down to the bone that at the very least one of those women has her eyes on Will. And that just won’t stand. “We should do this more often. But maybe without so much company.”

Amelia laughs at that, a confused but happy noise as Beth shoots a dark look behind her. Sure enough, the other women on their raft have closed in around Will and are making seemingly innocent small talk.

Pfft. Innocent. Sure it is.

Beth sorta wants to pull that blonde away by her pretty ponytail, but she also knows that brute force is nowhere near as effective as being sneaky. And Beth is sneaky. She can manipulate with the best of them and it’s not even like this time is that hard.

“It’s more fun when it’s just us, don’t you think?” Beth asks. She leans her head against Amelia’s shoulder and smiles. “We don’t need all these less experienced people dragging us down. I bet Jules and her husband would love to come. It would give a really nice chance for you two to talk more, too, right? That can’t hurt. I mean… she’s awfully important to Will.”

All of this is true, which helps Beth a little, but it’s also an awfully targeted push and she’d forgotten - momentarily - that Amelia has loads of experience with people trying to play her.

Politics is a dirty business after all.

The taller woman shoots her a disbelieving look, but doesn’t break stride until they’ve pushed their way into the small, dingy bathroom.

It’s a mixed bag, in Beth’s book, that the other women haven’t followed in their stride to change. On one hand, it means she and Amelia really do have a chance to talk in private. On the other, it means they’ve probably stripped down to their skimpy little bikini tops in front of Will by now. Beth trusts her big brother - she knows he’s madly in love with Amelia - but still.

“Jules and I are fine,” Amelia informs Beth, wriggling out of her sopping wet denim shorts and grabbing a dry towel from the waterproof bag to rid herself of the traces of river water clinging to her skin. “We had lunch last week, in fact. I’m babysitting Sylvia for her next weekend. You want to tell me what this is really about.”

Beth huffs in annoyance and buys herself some time by rooting through the bag for her shirt and pulling off her top to switch to dryer clothing. Surely she can’t be expected to spill the beans while half dressed, right?

Apparently she can. When she looks to the side, Amelia’s standing there in fresh jeans but just wearing a soaking bra on top while her hands set on her hips and she looks at a somewhat sheepish Beth expectantly.

Beth wonders if this is what having a mom would feel like. Her dad has always let her get away with everything. But with Amelia, even though she’s only known her for a little less than half a year, it’s like the older woman can see right through her. And she never fails to call her out, to hold her accountable. Beth wouldn’t have thought she’d like that, but she finds she does. She kind of adores everything about Amelia and she can’t wait for her to marry Will and make it permanent… not that he’s proposed yet, but he will. He will even if Beth has to step in and manipulate the situation herself. Amelia is family and Beth refuses to lose that. Not to anything. And surely not to a gaggle of annoyingly flirty bikini-clad girls hitting on her brother.

“Is Will babysitting Sylvia with you?” Beth asks, toweling off her hair and she sidesteps most of Amelia’s question. “I bet he’d enjoy that… I can just see him watching while you sing her to sleep. It would be so sweet.”

She’s right. It’d be like a sneak peek into their own futures. Will loves babies and his niece in particular. He also is cheesy levels of head-over-heels for Amelia. Beth knows he’d be utterly entranced by the sight of Amelia cuddling a one-year-old.

Again.

He’d be entranced again.

Beth isn’t blind. The few times she’s seen Will and Amelia around Jules’ baby girl it’s been incredibly obvious that Will very much wants a future with his girlfriend that includes lullabies and midnight feedings. That’s something Beth agrees with completely and - frankly - neither Will nor Amelia are getting any younger. Any push she can make to hurry that along seems like a smart move.

But Amelia blinks at her with wary surprise, pausing to pull a dry shirt over her head before speaking up. When she does, Beth wonders where her misstep was, exactly, because Amelia sounds far from comfortable.

“Talk,” Amelia instructs, folding her arms in front of herself and watching Beth with unnerving awareness. It feels to Beth like the older woman is looking right through her.

“About…?” Beth asks. She’s not about to answer more than is actually being asked if she can avoid it.

“You don’t have to push us together, you know,” Amelia tells her. “We’re great, Beth. Things are wonderful with us.”

“I know that,” Beth replies. It sounds a little petulant, even to her, like she should be stomping her foot as she talks. “I just… maybe I need it to stay that way.”

Her admission goes against the grain for her. Beth’s not big on broadcasting her own needs, her own feelings. But something about this runs deep enough that she can’t quite hold it all in.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Amelia assures her, taking a step forward and resting a hand on Beth’s elbow. Beth gives one hard, sharp nod of agreement, but it’s an ineffective attempt at sidestepping her own feelings. At least, it is in front of Amelia. “Look, I love your brother. He loves me, too. I can’t even imagine ever wanting this to end. But… if it did for some reason, I’m not just going to cut you out of my life. You know that, right? You’re important to me, too.”

That declaration means more to the fifteen-year-old than she’d thought it would and she sniffles a little as she nods.

“Sometimes… sometimes he’s more like another dad than my brother,” Beth admits. Amelia says nothing but Beth’s beyond certain that her words don’t surprise the older woman at all. The teenager swallows hard before continuing on. “My dad’s never dated. I don’t even remember my mom. And Will’s had girlfriends, I know he has, but no one important enough that he ever introduced them to me intentionally. But you… you’re different.”

Amelia smiles encouragingly as she tucks a wet lock of Beth’s hair behind her ear.

“You make him happy,” Beth continues. “And I want that for him. But I’m selfish because I want it for me even more.” She sort of wants to be done talking, but Amelia just watches her, waiting for her to say more and the words start spilling out anyhow. “I never had a mom. I never got to see my parents in love and happy. And I know it’s not the same, but sometimes when I look at you two together it feels like… like maybe…”

“Oh, Beth,” Amelia says. She pulls the shorter girl in for a hug. It’s so nice. Beth’s gotten so very used to this in the past few months. And her relationship with Amelia is nothing like her bond with Jules or Ellie or Aunt Felicity. They’re family… sort of, but she’s never thought of any of them like a mom. She’s never thought of anyone like a mom. Not until Amelia and it had taken finally finding a bond like that for Beth to realize how much she craves it. “Have you talked to Will about this?”

“No,” Beth sniffles again, hating the wet noise even as she makes it. “Not lately. Every time I’ve ever mentioned that sometimes he’s more like my dad than my brother, he calls Dad and they have a long talk and I end up spending less time at Will’s place for a bit. I know his heart’s in the right place, but I don’t want that to happen. I love my dad. But Will’s just as important to me and I don’t want him to push me away again.”

She can feel Amelia stiffen a little at that before sighing heavily and stepping back. The look on her face is serious as she licks her lips. “So you’ve got two options. If you want, I can talk to Will. I can smooth things over and make sure you can talk to him about this without him him worrying that you’re replacing your dad with him.”

“…Or…” Beth prompts, because she really isn’t a big fan of that option.

“Or we can keep this between us until you’re ready to talk to Will,” Amelia tells her. “But, don’t bottle it up. This is obviously bothering you a lot and it’s not just going to go away. I am so proud to mean that much to you and I’m very lucky to have an important role in your life. I get that you want to make up fit in some typical relationship titles. I think that’s natural. But, Beth, I learned the hard way that the best things in life break the mold and don’t fit expectations. I’m never going to be your mom, but that doesn’t mean I won’t love you and look out for you.”

That’s simultaneously heartening and gut-wrenching and Beth’s shoulders sag a little under the declaration.

“Between you and me… and I mean that very seriously,” Amelia says, raising both eyebrows like she’s extracting a promise of silence. “One day, I hope I get to be your sister-in-law. But I know even if I am, we’ll never exactly fit the norms for that relationship either. I’ve always felt a little maternal toward you, right from the first time I met you when you were half asleep on Will’s shoulder with applesauce smeared across your cheek. I wanted to lift you right out of his arms and rock you to sleep.”

“You should’ve started dating him then,” Bethany declares. How much better would that have been? Growing up with Will and Amelia happy and in love right in front of her, having a woman in Will’s house she could look up to, who could be there for her when she so desperately needed a woman to turn to. She’d give anything at all to have had that, especially knowing it would have been Amelia.

“We weren’t ready for each other yet, then,” Amelia tells her. “We both thought we knew everything and neither of us had a damned clue.”

“It took you fifteen years to get a clue?” Beth deadpans. “I thought you were both smarter than that.”

“Ah… there’s the sass I love,” Amelia grins, tugging on the end of the girl’s ponytail.

“I mean, it took my entire life,” Bethany continues. She’s poking for more information, trying to fill in the gaps in her daydreams, but Amelia either misses that or doesn’t see fit to help her out.

“We got there, though,” Amelia points out. “So it was all worth it.”

“Sure,” Beth agrees. “But you’ve still got random girls hitting on my brother with you right there.”

“Some people have no boundaries,” Amelia acknowledges, tossing their wet clothing into the bag. “Your brother is gorgeous, charismatic, funny and a Queen. There will always be someone angling to see if she’s got a shot. Trixie wasn’t the first and she won’t be the last.”

“Trixie?” Beth questions, quirking her head to the side as she eyes Amelia.

“I didn’t catch her actual name, but I think it started with a ‘T’. Trixie seemed to fit,” Amelia grins wolfishly.

“You noticed she was hitting on Will?” Beth asks.

“Well… sure, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it,” Amelia snorts.

“Didn’t that drive you nuts?” Beth demands. “I would’ve shoved her out of the raft if Will wouldn’t have played the hero and dove into the river to fish her out.”

Amelia laughs at that, shouldering the bag and nodding her head toward the door back toward the campsite. “He would have,” she agrees. “He definitely would have. But the only thing that drove me nuts was how desperate she came off.”

“Really?” Beth asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She’s pretty sure she wouldn’t be anywhere near as understanding in Amelia’s shoes.

“Really,” Amelia promises. She sounds like she really means it. “You know why?”

“I cannot begin to imagine,” Beth drawls.

“Because he didn’t even notice,” Amelia smirks. It’s such a secure, self-satisfied look. “Or, if he did, he really didn’t care. I have no questions about how much Will loves me and I’m not threatened by Trixie in the least.”

That’s a thought to chew on for Beth as Amelia pushes the door open and they spill back out into the late summer sunshine. It takes a moment for Beth’s eyesight to adjust from the crappy fluorescent bathroom lighting to actual daylight. Amelia’s must cope with the shift faster because she’s chuckling to herself quietly while Beth’s still blinking away the blinding brightness.

“Guess he’s noticed now,” Amelia declares with amusement as Beth’s vision clears and she spies her brother across the picnic area looking extremely uneasy as the blonde rests her hand on his bicep and tilts her hips toward him while talking.

Beth’s not sure she’s ever seen anyone who looked like they wanted to escape more.

The pink in Will’s cheeks is absolutely not there from a sunburn. He looks embarrassed as hell and he’d almost certainly back up further if he could, but there’s a giant boulder directly behind him and no way to politely escape. Beth can hear his nervous laughter from across the picnic area. And… yeah, it seems like Amelia had a point. There’s nothing at all about Will that shows any kind of interest in Trixie.

“Should we save him?” Beth asks, looking up at Amelia who watches the scene unfolding in front of her with no small measure of amusement.

“No,” Amelia counters, shaking her head. “You were worried before. Take a minute to see why that was really, really unnecessary.”

Amelia knows her boyfriend well. And that much is painfully obvious over the next minute or two. Even without hearing them, it’s pretty clear from body language that Will is trying to gently let the girl down, but she’s not keen to take the rejection. Even her friends are starting to look like they’d like to step in after a few minutes and the couple from their raft are sitting on a nearby bench openly wincing at the scene playing out in front of them.

For a few moments, Amelia’s openly amused by her boyfriend’s struggle with the aggressive blonde, but the longer it goes on the more irked she looks at the girl in question. It’s not until the girl rests her hand on Will’s bare chest that she grumbles under her breath and decides to take action, though. Apparently, watching Will fend off interested girls is all fun and games until one of them goes and cops a feel. There’s a line there and Beth thinks Trixie jumped right over it.

Honestly, though, watching Amelia step in is probably going to be just as fun as watching Will fend for himself, Beth thinks as she follows in Amelia’s wake.

The look of relief on Will’s face when he spots Amelia is palpable and the smile that pulls at his lips is genuine for the first time since she and Beth emerged from the bathroom with fresh clothes. The connection between them feels like a physical thing whenever they spot each other, like a tether that pulls them ever-closer together. It makes Beth sigh with giddy joy just to see that kind of thing is actually real, to see that kind of love exists outside of movies and books, to think maybe someday she could find that for herself, too.

“Hey,” Amelia greets, sidling up next to Will and edging out the other girl without even looking at her.

“Better now that you’re dried off?” Will asks, his hand automatically gravitating to her waist and pulling her closer. When she sets her hand on Will’s chest, Beth’s 100-percent certain that she intentionally lays it directly over where Trixie had put her fingers.

The ridiculous thing, though, is that Trixie still hasn’t given up, apparently. She clears her throat and says “you should think about a bathing suit next time. They’re way more comfortable and then you don’t have to change.”

“Sure,” Amelia replies. Her voice is overly saccharine and the least sincere Beth has ever heard it. She’s not even trying to sound believable. “If you like sunburns.”

“Well, you need to have a good base tan, clearly,” the girl laughs, tossing her blonde hair behind her shoulder. “But that’s something you can work on. Maybe your daughter can help you with that.”

It takes a second for Beth realizes that Trixie means her and that’s… damn it, she doesn’t want to like anything this woman says and she knows it was meant as an insult, a knock on the fact that Amelia is older, but it kind of makes Beth’s heart soar anyhow.

“Oh, Beth is Will’s sister,” Amelia tells the blonde sweetly, gritting her teeth at the girl and edging herself slightly closer to Will until they’re pressed up against each other. “We haven’t started our family yet.”

Well those words hang in the air for a moment.

Beth’s sure that Trixie’s been stunned into silence, but she can’t give a damn about the random girl’s reaction because she’s entirely too fixed on her big brother. And Will… Will’s staring at Amelia with the most intense gaze Beth’s ever seen. The blue of his eyes is damned near eclipsed by his pupils and his breathing looks a little shallow, a little fast. Someone who didn’t know him that well might write it off as nerves, but it’s not. Beth knows that and so does Amelia. It’s want, pure and simple.

“Excuse us, will you?” Will asks the girl, turning away from her entirely to face Amelia. She seems to have just realized the gravity of what she said and in spite of knowing full well what Will’s reaction means, she looks a little anxious.

Trixie seems to finally take the hint, rejoining her friends with a sullen look on her face. Beth backs off too, feeling like an intruder for the first time in a while.

Will and Amelia are openly affectionate all the time in private. Beth can’t even count the number of times she’s walked in to find them kissing on the sofa or wrapped around each other, half-heartedly attempting to do the dishes. They laugh and touch and kiss and nuzzle each other almost constantly at home.

But not in public.

Not usually.

But then, Amelia had just said something incredibly unusual, hadn’t she?

She’s just close enough to the couple that Beth can hear her brother murmur the word ‘yet,’ echoing the earlier words, before he cradles Amelia’s face in his hands and kisses her with the kind of intensity that should come with its own orchestral score. It’s sweeping, dramatic, so romantic that it makes Beth and the couple at the bench next to her sigh.

The kiss itself stays just-this-side of appropriate and when it ends, Will rests his forehead against Amelia’s. Nose-to-nose, sharing the same breath and utterly excluding everyone else at the picnic site from their bubble of reality for the moment. It’s this, the aftermath of that searing kiss, that proves to Beth more than anything else that neither Trixie nor anyone else is ever going to come between Will and Amelia.

She decides then and there that if Will doesn’t propose by the end of the year, she’s going to step in and nudge him the right direction. Amelia will say yes. She knows it. She’s pretty sure she’d say yes right now.  

“They’re adorable,” half of the couple at the bench says. They’d both been awfully sweet for the little bit they’d chatted before setting out on the river, even if she can’t for the life of her remember either of the men’s names. She sits down next to them when one of them pats the bench in invitation and offers her a bag of grapes. “How long have they been together?”

“Fifteen years,” Beth replies, smiling in thanks and taking the bag of fruit before looking back to where Will and Amelia stand, still wrapped up in each other. “It just took them a while to figure that out.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Challenge from norah_beans to write Olicity at Bed, Bath and Beyond.
> 
> Writing Time - About two hours.

** April 2020 **

“I don’t understand why we’re here.” Felicity blinks a few times as the automatic doors slide open and the bright sunshine gives way to the dull fluorescent lighting she generally associates with malls and grocery stores. She grabs a cart and swings Ellie off of her hip with practiced eased, sliding the not-quite-two-year-old into the built in seat, facing her before turning to Jules.

“Momma, I think I’m too big for the cart,” Jules announces. She’s five and dead-set on independence wherever she can grasp it. “It’s for babies.”

It would be sort of a tight squeeze with both of the girls up there and Ellie’s been teething lately, biting on anything and everything in arm’s reach in an attempt to cut her two-year molars. It would be best if one of those things within reach weren’t her sister.

“Okay, Jules, but stand on the end of the cart and hold on, okay?” Felicity asks, looking back toward her husband who’s been quickly distracted by some kitchen tools with functions she knows nothing about. “Honey?”

“Yeah,” he says, putting down the doodad and heading back to her side.

“This is going to be like Home Depot but worse, isn’t it?” she questions. He looks a little sheepish.

“They have some really nice kitchen things,” Oliver ventures. She stops and blinks at him.

“If we came all this way for a new slow cooker…” she warns, her tone vaguely threatening.

“No,” Oliver chuckles, nudging her so that they start walking. “We have a great slow cooker. Two of them, actually. We’re here for Roy and Thea’s wedding present.”

Felicity grinds to a halt at that and blinks up at him. “April Fool’s Day was earlier this week, Oliver. Not today. There’s no chance in he…heck that your sister registered at Bed Bath and Beyond for wedding gifts.” Her eyes dart to Jules and Ellie at her near-slip, but neither girl seems to have noticed.

“No,” Oliver replies. “She didn’t. But Roy saw something he wanted here and I figured it would be a nice gift.”

“Roy,” Felicity asks, her voice a deadpan.

“Yes,” Oliver agrees.

“Roy saw something at Bed Bath and Beyond that he wants,” Felicity continues in the same tone.

“He did,” Oliver confirms.

“Roy’s stepped foot into a Bed Bath and Beyond?” Her nose scrunches up as she asks the question. “Because I’m having trouble picturing this.”

“Well, last week we were out before patrol and-”

“Hold on,” Felicity says, gesturing wildly with one hand. “You and Roy went shopping at Bed Bath and Beyond together?” If her eyes are bugging out a bit, she feels like that’s understandable.

“In a… professional capacity,” Oliver allows, clearing his throat.

“There are some big blank spaces in need of filling in about now,” she informs him.

The door slides open behind them and Felicity is suddenly quite aware that in spite of the store being sparsely populated, it’s not like they’re alone for this conversation.

“Let’s walk,” Oliver says, as if reading her mind. She steers toward linens instead of kitchen goods because she knows her husband and they do not need to go home with a brand new juicer or meat grinder or ice cream maker or whatever.

“So what is it that Roy had to have?” Felicity asks as they pass an older woman with powder blue hair holding some ‘as seen on tv’ gadget and debating the validity of a coupon with a very tired looking employee.

“There’s this grill…” Oliver starts off. Felicity has to shake her head and laugh to herself because of course it’s a grill.

“A grill?” she asks with clear amusement.

“It’s the grill, Felicity,” Oliver tells her seriously.

“I find that funny mostly because I’m well aware that Roy’s indoor kitchen skills are on par with mine, but you put that man outside and suddenly he’s like an artisan chef or something,” Felicity informs him.

“There’s…” Oliver starts before wincing and licking his lips a little. That’s damned distracting, regardless of context and company. He’s clearly thinking, trying to find a way to voice his thoughts. She might not get why Roy needs ‘the grill’ but she does get that it means a lot to Oliver. That’s enough for her, but her curiosity still has the best of her. “You know what it was like for Roy growing up, the kind of life he had. He said the grill reminded him of this friend he had once, some kid in a slightly better part of the Glades who had a barbeque that wasn’t basically a rusty campground grill. He said it was sort of cool because the kid had a dad who stuck around and a mom who packed him lunch and made him eat his vegetables. I think it’s linked in his head with what a family is, what a family looks like. And I want that for him and Thea.”

The thoughtfulness of that socks her right in the gut. Because she knows. She remembers. She’d been better off than Roy as a kid, but not by a hell of a lot. She remembers rusty swingsets and hand-me-down clothes that never once fit her. She remembers eating bar food for days on end because her mom could bring home food they were gonna toss at work, but they didn’t have money for things like fruits and vegetables. So, it’s not a grill for her. That’s not the thing that resonates with her, but she gets the idea. She gets that very well.

“I think that’s an awesome idea,” she tells her husband when it becomes obvious he’s waiting anxiously for some kind of response. “I think you’re an incredibly wonderful, thoughtful, amazing man and I am a very, very lucky woman to have married you.”

“A very smart woman,” he corrects her with a grin. “Luck didn’t have a whole lot to do with it.”

“Says the man who survived a shipwreck for years only to return home and find me in the IT department miraculously able to retrieve nigh-unrecoverable data off a laptop someone used for target practice?” she questions with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Okay, so maybe there was a little luck,” he allows, kissing her temple and draping an arm around her as they start moving the cart again.

They’re nearly through the bedding section, into the patio area, when Ellie gives a high pitched shriek. At first, Felicity panics, thinking something’s wrong, but no… no it’s just her almost-two-year old being totally on-brand.

“Rascal!” she declares loudly, making grabby hands toward the kids’ bedding section. Sure enough, there’s a racoon covered bedspread set up on a mattress and Felicity knows that her younger daughter is about to utterly lose it. “Gimmie Rascal!”

“That’s not how you ask for things,” Jules tells her little sister, shaking her head in beratement.

“Go ahead,” Felicity tells Oliver, nodding toward the grills as she lifts Ellie out of the cart. She’d reached so far that it was only by the grace of the seatbelt that she hadn’t fallen out headfirst.

“I’ll be fast,” he promises, clearly aware that things with Ellie might have a massive downturn in very short order. She’s grumpier than usual with the teething and her patience is slim.

“Ellie-bug…” Felicity says, turning the little girl so she can’t see the cartoon animal. Or, at least, she couldn’t without the absurd kind of flexibility only know to toddlers and yoga devotees. She cranes her neck to catch another glimpse of Rascal and Felicity bops her lightly on the nose to get her attention. It doesn’t work though. She’s far too in Rascal-mode. “Hey, look at me, missy.”

“My Rascal,” she insists, looking back to her mom with huge, watery eyes that quickly spill over with fat tears that roll down her face as her lower lip quivers.

Faker.

“He’s the store’s Rascal, Ellie. You have plenty of Rascals at home,” Felicity tells her sternly.

“I want,” Ellie insists with a sniffle.

“And I want my little girl to not be demanding and not cry her little eyes out when she can’t have something she wants,” Felicity says, holding her ground. “You are not getting the Rascal bedspread right now, Elizabeth. If you want it, you can ask for it as a birthday present, but don’t you dare pitch a fit right now.”

“Maybe if you’d asked nicely,” Jules sighs, shaking her head. Ellie is too busy sniffling with little hiccups into her mom’s shoulder to hear her sister, though, and that’s just as well because Felicity’s pretty sure it would lead to bigger tears and an attempt at an apology in a bid to take the bedspread home today.

But that’s not happening.

She and the girls move around the corner slightly, just enough that Ellie can’t possibly see Rascal anymore and she can watch Oliver as he talks animatedly with a salesperson who is clearly trying to talk him into a better model. Felicity gets why. It’s not like the grill Oliver’s talking about getting Roy is anything special - at least not on the surface. It’s probably barely average quality and certainly average cost. There’s nothing particularly noteworthy about it. But, she knows, there will be to Roy.

Oliver heads back after a moment with a heart-stopping grin on his face. He’s so proud of himself right now. And he should be. For all the ways he saves his city, it’s little moments like this where he comes through for his family that really prove him to be a hero in every aspect of his life. At least, he is to her.

“It’ll be waiting for us up at the register in a few minutes,” he tells her, taking Ellie from her arms as she immediately reaches for him with wet, reddened fingers she’d been chewing on. She glares back at her mother like she’s holding a grudge. She probably is, right now, but it will pass shortly. “There’s a few other things I wanted to pick up before we go.”

“What kind of things?” Felicity asks, suddenly a little suspicious because why had he and Roy come here in the first place, again?

“Uh… some refrigerator water filters, a couple wine openers, a few… other things,” he answers, rubbing Ellie’s back.

“Didn’t you change the fridge water filter last week?” Felicity asks.

“Yeah, well… that’s, uh… that’s where I got the idea,” Oliver admits.

“What idea?” she questions warily.  

“You know when you put those in, if you put them in wrong, how there’s a whole lot of pressure?” Oliver asks. “There’s a lot of force in those little things.”

“I’m aware,” Felicity replies.

“Well… Roy and I were talking about it and we thought they might be useful,” Oliver says, clearing his throat and looking around to make sure the salesperson is nowhere nearby. “For some new trick arrows.”

“…You and Roy came to Bed Bath and Beyond to look for supplies to make new trick arrows?” Felicity asks, trying to wrap her head around that idea.

“Yes,” Oliver agrees. “Yes, we did.”

That mental image… Oliver and Roy perusing the gadgets in the kitchen section… that’s a thing that’s gonna stick with her for a bit. Hell, she might need to hack the store’s security footage to see if she can actually catch a glimpse for herself.

“How frequently did salesgirls interrupt to see if they could help you two?” Felicity asks. She knows. She knows. It’s not like Oliver doesn’t draw interested looks wherever he goes. She’s used to that by now. But she’s also dead certain that he and Roy combined in a store like this had meant they’d had a whole lot more help than they’d wanted.

“That might be part of the reason I still need to go buy those filters and wine openers,” he admits.

“We’re here as your cover, aren’t we?” Felicity realizes.

“Maybe a little,” Oliver agrees. “But mostly you’re here because I want to spend my weekend with my wife, even if it’s spent doing something like shopping for refrigerator filters.”

“And Rascal?” Ellie asks, lifting her head to look at her father with wide, hopeful eyes. She knows the weak link in the parenting chain when it comes to batting her baby blues. But Oliver gives her a solid shake of his head, holding fast to the ‘no rewards for whining’ rule.

“Not today, Ellie-bug,” he tells her. “But if you and Jules are both good then I’ll pick you up some bubbles and chalk at the checkout and we can go to the park after this. Okay?”

Jules stands up straighter at that. “You’d better be good,” she tells her sister.

“You’ll get chalk either way,” Felicity murmurs, pulling the older girl to her side and quickly kissing the top of her head. “You’ve been very good today and I’m grateful.”

“I good!” Ellie insists, sounding a little annoyed.

“Glad to hear it,” Oliver says crisply, shifting her to his hip with ease and tilting his head toward the kitchen section. “Shall we?”

They do. And ultimately Jules and Ellie earn not only the chalk and bubbles, but candy, too, because their dad is a bit of a pushover when it comes to his girls. He’s also a little weak when it comes to kitchen gadgets. Neither the new meat grinder nor the new pasta maker that wind up in their cart surprise Felicity. But that’s okay. He talks the whole way to the park about the pasta dish he wants to make her for dinner tomorrow. He’s just… he’s happy. They’re all happy. Roy will be touched when he gets his grill and Oliver takes such joy in making his family a nice dinner and the girls are thrilled with their bubbles and chalk.

Tonight, he’ll hit the streets, hold the criminals of Starling City accountable for their many crimes. He’ll save three lives and prevent a burglary. He’ll make a difference with this city, as he does night-in and night-out. But right now, he’s making a difference with his family. And that, Felicity knows, is every bit as important.


	7. June 2033

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice demands that Ellie Queen take some unusual steps on Sara Diggle's behalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - I kind of want "ball of sunshine/loves everyone" Ellie Queen to exact revenge on the latest douche to break Sara's heart…
> 
> Writing Time - Slightly over one hour

The cover of night is Ellie Queen’s best ally right now, but shrubbery around the building comes a close second. A thick buffer of rhododendron bushes easily hides her approach and she crouches lowly as she reaches the brick wall, looking for a way to scale the building to the second floor without being seen.

 

Options are slim, but they’re there. 

 

This would be a whole lot easier if she’d had the nerve to swipe her dad’s grappling hook arrows, but she isn’t foolhardy enough for that. If she were caught with that - by her dad or anyone else - there’d be a hell of a lot of explaining to do. She’ll be in enough trouble if she’s busted. She doesn’t need to add to it. 

 

But some things are worth it. Some things demand vengeance. 

 

There’s no good option for trees to climb for access to the upstairs, but there  _ is _ an open window up there so she doesn’t have to worry about tripping the alarm. Bad move on her target’s part, though. Sloppy and dangerous as hell. But, then, the person in question probably doesn’t have any idea they’re a target. 

 

His mistake. He’ll know soon enough. 

 

The brick isn’t easy to climb, but it could be a hell of a lot worse. At least it’s not shoddy plastic siding or stucco. She’s wearing all black and has her hair tucked up into a beanie. She should blend in fairly well so that the neighbors don’t notice and she’s almost positive no one is at home right now, but she’s cautious anyhow, moving up the building at a steady, fast pace that she prays goes unnoticed.

 

It takes all of her cat-like reflexes and upper body strength to swing over to the open windowsill and pull herself up, but she manages it on her first attempt, giving herself a mental pat on the back for the success. Her dad would be proud. Or, maybe not. This isn’t exactly how he’d ever intended her to use her skills, after all. 

 

But that doesn’t matter right now because this is  _ important _ . Because Mike-the-almost-model is a jackass who deserves what’s coming to him. 

 

After six damned, heart-wrenching months of watching Sara pine for this dirtbag, she’d dated him for all of three weeks before he unceremoniously dumped her during lunch in the quad at school. Ellie might have been jealous as hell. She might wanted Sara and Mike to break up, but she absolutely didn’t want to see her best friend’s heart crushed.  _ Especially _ in such a painfully public way. 

 

Ellie had been there when it happened, had wedged herself between them and poked Mike in the chest as she told him off, all fury and hot-faced defensiveness on Sara’s behalf. But, at the time, Sara had needed her more. The other girl had tugged her arm to pull her away and Ellie had listened entirely because Sara’s consolation was way more important to making Mike feel like shit at the time. 

 

Now, though… now it’s a lot of hours later and Sara had cried herself out with her head on Ellie’s lap as Ellie stroked her hair, her heart breaking more and more with every quiet sob. Now she can get back to making Mike  _ pay _ . 

 

She pauses, listening for signs of life within the house as she eases herself through the window. Hearing nothing, she dusts herself off and scans the room, slipping the backpack of supplies off her shoulder as she considers options. 

 

There’s no shortage of them. 

 

It’s June and it’s  _ hot _ , so the first thing she does is pour some crumbles of bleu cheese between Mike’s mattress and sheets. That’s gonna smell  _ awesome _ as soon as it melts. But she’s nowhere near done. 

 

She hops atop the bed and reaches up to the ceiling, gluing a super realistic looking, absurdly large spider directly above his pillow. Briefly, she considers placing some kind of recording device just so she and Sara can enjoy his reaction to all of this, but in the end she decides there’s far too much that might be going on in a teenage boy’s bedroom that she’d rather have no clue about, so she skips that idea and heads to his bathroom instead. 

 

Luckily, it appears that Mike-the-almost-model has his own bathroom and it’s filled with tons of hair products. Ugh. He’s so  _ fussy _ , like a damned peacock. She can’t understand what Sara had seen in him, but that’s really beside the point. 

 

She swaps out some of the hair gels with Nair and replaces his deodorant with a stick of cream cheese before considering his shower. It doesn’t take long to unscrew his showerhead and stuff some red Kool-Aid powder inside it. Heading out of the bathroom after that, she stops, considers his toothpaste and then squeezes it all out and refills it with mustard instead. 

 

Fun times. She’s kinda looking forward to confessing all of this to Will. Out of everyone other than Sara, she thinks he’ll appreciate the lengths she’s going to. 

 

All of this has gone pretty quickly and she’s got time to burn now, so she heads back out into the bedroom and looks around, surveying for more options. She’d love to mess with his computer, but she completely failed to acquire her mother’s hacking skills. 

 

Still, it’s probably worth a shot. 

 

As it turns out, Mike-the-almost-model is  _ not _ a braintrust and his password is literally 1234, so she gets in pretty easily, finds his not-at-all-parental-approved social media accounts and uses his own e-mail account to shoot his mother a link to his reddit account before changing his password to ‘m!kesuck5’ and logging back out. For extra frustration, she pastes a post-it note over the bottom of his mouse.

 

Sucks to be you, Mike. Maybe next time, don’t be a jackass - either to your girlfriend or online. It’ll come back to bite you in the ass eventually. 

 

There’s no topping that, she thinks, so she starts to head back to the window to make her escape, but that’s when she spots something barely visible beneath his bed and she  _ cannot _ believe her luck. 

 

Ellie crouches down and pulls a few sizable bottles of alcohol out from beneath the bed, grinning widely at her find. All of it winds up poured down the sink and replaced with water.

 

And that - most definitely - is the cherry on the top of her ‘fuck you’ sundae to Mike-the-almost-model. 

 

She leaves the way she came, quietly, fast and under the cover of dark. There’s a deep sense of satisfaction about the justice she’s wrought tonight and she savors that for a moment as she reaches the sidewalk and pulls off her beanie, unzippering her jacket to reveal a colorful shirt, so that she looks less like a suspicious stalker and more like a stylish teenage girl. Her bike leans against a stop sign at the end of the street and she hops on it to head back home with no one the wiser to what she’s done. But, as she rides away, her head and heart both focus back on Sara.  

 

Part of her wants to go back and wait for Mike, to scream at him again and tell him that Sara deserves better, that  _ some _ people would do anything at all just to see her smile, and doesn’t he know she deserves better than this? Better than him? But Mike’s an idiot and Ellie’s not going to even hint at her feelings for Sara to someone like him. He doesn’t get to know that. 

 

But, oh, it’s true. Sara should be with someone who makes her happy in the most fundamental way, with someone who adores her and puts her first and would never in a million years intentionally hurt her. Ellie could be that person. She knows it, feels it with every fiber of her being. But that doesn’t get to be her place and it leaves her frustrated and heartsick. She’ll take what she can get, though, and that’s a lot. Sara does love her, she knows that, just not the way she wants. She  _ does _ get to be there for her, to hold her while she cries and support her when she needs it. That’s still something. Whatever might happen, their friendship will always be a solid, foundational part of Ellie’s life and she will cherish it and hold onto it always. 

 

In the end, Ellie doesn’t tell Sara what she’s done, but she also doesn’t have to. Mike shows up to school with no hair and smelling like cheese, pissed as hell and constantly bemoaning his newly bald status. He can’t  _ prove  _ Ellie did anything, but he keeps glaring at her anyhow. His new girlfriend - the one he stupidly ditched Sara for - dumps him when he doesn’t get a callback for some modeling thing and Sara’s smile through all of it is thin, but it shows in her eyes. 

 

“You’re the best, you know that?” she asks, wrapping an arm around Ellie after school and hugging her tightly. Ellie flushes happily at the praise and tries to hold back a grin as the older girl kisses her soundly on the cheek with a loud smack of her lips. “Everyone should have a best friend like you, Ellie. I love you.”

 

Ellie’s heartbeat goes triple-time at that, even if the way she wants to hear those words isn’t how Sara means them. That’s okay for now, because Sara still loves her and Ellie will relish that for all it’s worth. 

 

“Right back at you,” she smiles, leaning her cheek on her best friend’s shoulder. “You deserve the best.”

 

*


	8. September 2045

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Amelia and Will baby sit Jules's kid and at each separate moments think, damn, "Amelia/Will would make a great parent" and basically they are super sappy and can't wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s pretend this was an actual flashfic instead of something I spent like a solid day on, okay? It’s roughly 5.5k and I believe I’ve totally fulfilled the sap requirement here. This might be the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written. And yes the last line is a variation of something quite familiar. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> This is the weekend after the rafting trip with Beth. ENJOY!
> 
>  **EDIT - IMPORTANT NOTE:** This is now AU. The timeline for Will and Amelia has shifted and requires some things to change. Don't worry, you'll like it even better. However, this no longer fits for several reasons. I'm leaving it up so you can enjoy whenever you like, but it's no longer 'canon.'

**September 2045**

 

It’s not like everything in Will’s life has been perfect lately. It hasn’t. He’s had his ups and downs like everyone else. But the ups? God, they’re so much better than he could have ever expected, so much higher than he’d thought they could get. It’s been six months since Amelia quite literally walked back into his life, proving beyond any doubt that they could be as amazing together as he’s always known they could be. He’s never loved anyone like he loves her, never understood how deep that love could run, not until she showed up like she walked straight out of all his dreams. 

 

Or, well… all of his dreams at the time. He’s quickly finding that he’s building new ones. 

 

“Did I just hear their car pull up?” she asks, placing a hand on his arm as she pulls back the curtain of his front window to look outside. He takes a moment just to watch her. Her dark hair is pulled back neatly in a ponytail - unusual for her - and she’s dressed casually, wearing jeans that really, really fit her well and a solid black t-shirt that he finds a lot more distracting than she means it to be. But he barely has a moment to look her over because her shoulders droop suddenly, answering in full her earlier question. 

 

“Any minute,” he promises, pulling her back and kissing her shoulder. She sighs and leans back against him, letting him hold her and relish her scent. It feels like a gift. Everything with her feels like a gift, and he savors it so much every single day. He thinks he always will.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, looking a little abashed. “I’m just… I’m kind of excited, you know?” 

 

She is. He knows that and it’s so painfully adorable that he almost can’t stand it. 

 

“It’s gonna be an interesting weekend,” he agrees, smiling at her softly before claiming her lips. It’s far from insistent, nothing meant to escalate, but that doesn’t me that he doesn’t feel it shoot straight down his spine the instant his mouth touches hers. It’s fortifying, reassuring. He figured out months ago that he wants to kiss her like this every day for the rest of his life. There’s not even a question of that. He’s just waiting for the right moment to tell her, the right moment to ask… 

 

They break apart and she nuzzles her nose against his with a quiet sigh of contentment. Moments like this are amongst his favorite, these days. Oh, he loves making love to her, loves exploring her body anew night after night, but something about this is almost as powerful. It’s honest and soul-baring and he wants nothing more than to revel in this unity he’s found with her. 

 

“Think we can manage it?” she asks. He can hear the smile in her voice, even if she’s too close to see it. 

 

“I know we can,” he counters firmly. 

 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings and Amelia jolts, stepping away ever so slightly and letting go to smooth down imaginary wrinkles in her jeans. It’s adorable and he has to shake his head as he grins and strides toward his front door. 

 

For all of Amelia’s attempts to look calm and put together, the image that greets him on the other side of the door does not. 

 

“Hey, so, she stinks and she hasn’t napped and I’m sorry,” Jules says immediately, holding his fourteen-month-old niece out toward him. 

 

“It’s fine,” Amelia replies from over his shoulder, edging him out of the way to take the baby with an absolutely awestruck smile on her face. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greets. “We’ll get you changed so that you’re much more comfortable, okay?” 

 

“Papa?” the little girl asks, looking around. 

 

“Papa’s not here,” Jules tells the baby, brushing wisps of dark hair back from her brow before looking back to Will. She seems frazzled, but that’s probably just the effect of motherhood. “We’d never get out of here if he had to say goodbye and we’re running late as it is.”

 

Will glances at the clock. Sure enough, she’s a solid twenty minutes late. This isn’t surprising in the least when it comes to Jules these days. 

 

“You have the number for where we’re staying?” Jules asks Will worriedly, pulling his attention back. In a rush or not, she seems like she can’t keep her hand from stroking her daughter’s back. 

 

“And both of your cell phone numbers and your mother-in-law’s cell phone number,” Will confirms. “We’re good, Jules. Everything is gonna be fine. It’s just one night.”

 

Jules makes a stressed little whine at that and turns to her daughter to kiss her chubby little cheeks a few times, her eyes pinched shut. “You’re staying one big sleep with Uncle Will, okay?” she asks. “Just one. Momma and Papa will be back tomorrow around dinner to pick you up.”

 

Little Sylvia clearly doesn’t understand, but she picks up on her mother’s distress, suddenly looking like she might cry. “Just one big sleep,” Jules says again, forcing a smile onto her face and nodding at the baby. “Uncle Will and Aunt Amelia are going to take such good care of you, baby girl.”

 

Yeah, using  _ those terms _ absolutely steals the air from Will’s lungs and from the look on Amelia’s face, he’s pretty sure it does much the same to her. 

 

“Oh, I… sorry,” Jules flinches, looking between them. “It’s just… well… I mean, she had to call her  _ something _ , right?”

 

“It’s fine,” Will assures his little sister, painfully aware of the way Amelia’s gaze burns against his skin. “It’s good, actually.”

 

“Oh…” Jules says, blinking at him. There’s a serious conversation in their future and Will is suddenly very, very aware of that fact. “Well… good,” Jules nods sharply. “That’s good.”

 

“Mama?” Sylvia asks, reaching her tiny fingers out for her mother. 

 

“One big sleep,” Jules repeats, kissing Sylvia’s fingertips. Will has to wonder if the words are more for her daughter or herself. His little sister’s eyes are visibly teary and her voice sounds clogged. “And you’re going to have so much fun with Will and Amelia, baby girl. 

 

For someone who really hadn’t wanted kids in the first place, Jules has surely fallen terribly in love with her daughter. Will still thinks she wouldn’t have chosen to have any children, even knowing how wonderful Sylvia is, and she surely won’t have more… at least not intentionally. But sometimes fate intervenes and Will is so grateful for his beautiful little niece as well as the effect she’s had on his little sister.

 

“She will have fun,” Will promises, taking the diaper bag and pack-and-play from Jules’ grasp. “We all will.” 

 

“If you have  _ any _ problems…” Jules starts. 

 

“I have your number and Felicity’s number and Amelia’s mom’s number and your mother-in-law’s number and the pediatrician’s on speed dial,” Will vows, reciting it off like a list. “Plus, I’ve been a firefighter for fourteen years. We’re good, Julie-bug. Now go. Have a fun time at the wedding and tell my favorite brother-in-law that I said hello.”

 

“He’s your  _ only _ brother-in-law,” Jules replies with narrowed eyes. 

 

“Easy for him to be my favorite, then, right?” Will grins cheekily. “Stop stalling. She’ll be fine. I promise. I practically raised Beth, didn’t I?”

 

That point seems to mollify her some, but Jules is still a bundle of anxiety. Honestly, Will can’t blame her. Were it his own kids… fictional ones he might someday have… he can’t imagine he’d be in much better shape. 

 

“Okay,” Jules agrees reluctantly. “Okay, I know you’re right. Sylvie, baby, I love you so much and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she asks, kissing the little girl a few times again, her hand cupping the baby’s cheek. “Be a good girl, okay?” 

 

“No,” Sylvia announces loudly. Will chooses to believe that’s in reference to her mother clearly leaving rather than the notion of being good, but he supposes that remains to be seen.

 

“Yes, Sylvia,” Jules counters sternly. She’d nailed that ‘mom’ voice inside of twenty minutes after giving birth and it still kinda makes Will stand up straighter on instinct. Is that just a thing all women do? Is it a switch that flips the minute you have a baby? Would Amelia be like that? 

 

“She’ll be a good girl,” Amelia says with certainty, cuddling the little girl close to her body in spite of the fact that the child definitely needs a diaper change. It doesn’t seem to bother Amelia in the least. “I know she will.”

 

“Yeah…” Jules echoes, swallowing hard and biting her lip as she strokes her fingers down Sylvia’s soft, chubby little cheek. This is harder for her than she’d thought it would be, Will can tell. She leaves her daughter with family often enough, sometimes even overnight with her parents or her husband’s mother, but she’s never been  _ out of town _ and it seems that makes all the difference for her. 

 

“If she sees you upset, it’s going to upset her more,” Will points out to his sister softly.

 

Jules blows some air through her thinned lips and nods before forcing a smile on her face and stepping back. “Momma’s gonna go bye-bye, now. Bye-bye, honey!”

 

“Buh,” Sylvia says, pressing her lips to her own palm with a smacking kiss and throwing her arm wide. 

 

Even Jules can’t help but be touched by that, reaching out and pretending to grab the kiss out of mid-air and press it to her own cheek before returning the gesture. Sylvia grins at her mother and giggles, burying her face in Amelia’s neck. Will’s hard pressed to decide which of the women in front of him have the biggest piece of his heart in this moment. Amelia’s joy at Sylvia’s affection is blinding, but Sylvia herself is so painfully cute that it hits him hard. And Jules… he’d never expected to see Jules like this, not even when she told him she was pregnant. The softness about her when she’s with her daughter feels like an entirely new facet to her personality that’s come to surface. Will knows her well, he always has, but seeing her with Sylvia is like seeing her with fresh eyes. 

 

Then again, sometimes she’s exactly the same person he watched grow up. 

 

“Call me,” she demands suddenly, poking him in the chest as she turns toward the door. Her voice is bossy, insistent, entirely familiar, and Will has to fight back a grin because all of a sudden she seems eight years old and trying to hide in his room to get away from Nate’s wails all over again. 

 

“You’ve got it,” he promises. 

 

Jules leaves with a heavy sigh and a tight smile that is entirely for her daughter’s benefit. The second she’s out the door, Sylvia’s wriggling in Amelia’s arms in an attempt to get down. 

 

“Hold on, little one,” Amelia cautions, lowering the toddler to the ground carefully. Sylvia scurries over to the window as soon as her feet hit the floor, peeking out through the curtains to watch her mother go. 

 

“Buh!” she waves frantically before kissing the glass, leaving little lip-prints that Will has absolutely no intention of cleaning off anytime soon. “Buh-buh!”

 

She’s utterly adorable, standing on her tiptoes, pressed up against the glass, and Will can’t help shaking his head at his little niece. Beth is a teenager now… somehow… and he’s missed having a baby around, missed it more than he’d realized, even. He’s thirty-seven-years-old now and until earlier this year, he hadn’t really thought a family of his own was going to be in the cards for him. But now… now he thinks maybe. Now he wonders… 

 

“Hey you,” Amelia says, perched on the floor next to the baby. She’s laid out a changing pad from the diaper bag while Will wasn’t even looking. “Let’s get you freshened up so we can play, okay?” 

 

Sylvia clearly knows the drill and while her vocabulary is pretty limited right now, she seems to understand most of what’s being said to her. She lies down and sticks her chunky little legs up in the air while pronouncing “ick.” 

 

Amelia just grins at her and kisses her toes as she grabs a fresh diaper. “ _ Very  _ ick,” she agrees. “But you’ll feel much better in a minute or two, okay? You’re such a good girl.” 

 

The little girl beams at the praise and looks up at Will with a huge grin on her face. “You are,” he agrees, distracting her while Amelia makes quick work of the diaper change. Sylvia’s pretty well behaved for her diaper changes most of the time, but she’s even better when she’s distracted. He sits down next to her and lets her pat his face. She likes the feel of his scruff. 

 

“Papa?” she asks again, looking around the room. 

 

“He’s not here, honey,” Will tells her. Her cute little lips form a disappointed pout and she sighs. If  _ anyone _ in the history of the world has ever been a daddy’s girl, it’s Sylvia. The subject of kids had not been something Jules and her husband had agreed on. Reluctantly, he’d decided Jules was more important to him than children, but Will knows that hadn’t been his brother-in-law’s preference. Sylvia had been a very-much-unplanned surprise and her father has thoroughly cherished his little girl every single day of her life. 

 

And, even at a year old, she knows it. 

 

“All done. Let me just go wash my hands and toss this and we can play, okay?” Amelia asks, standing back up with the dirty diaper in hand. 

 

Sylvia grins and claps in response before maneuvering to her feet and climbing onto Will’s lap. She’s a cuddly little girl, always looking for a lap or someone to hold her - these things are not in short supply in her family - and Will is more than happy to be on the receiving end of his only niece’s affection. 

 

“Happy to be clean again, huh?” he asks with a grin as she smacks a very wet kiss against his cheek. “Maybe save some of that love for Aunt Amelia,” he tells her, tickling her side lightly and earning a giggle. “She’s the one who fixed you up.”

 

From over by the sink in the kitchen, Amelia tosses him a glance over her shoulder with a smile, locking eyes with his. It’s sobering and dizzying all at once. And, for a minute, the only thing he’s aware of at all is her. God, he loves her so much, wants so much with her, wants to spend every day for this rest of his life trying to earn this same little smile that reaches her eyes. It makes his heart pound in his chest and his head spin. 

 

He’s only pulled back to reality when Sylvia eases herself off of his lap and starts to wander around the space, taking stock of her surroundings. It’s been more than a few years since Will’s had to babyproof anything - teen-proofing is another thing entirely; he sort of trusts Beth, but he also no longer keeps hard liquor in the house because she’s fifteen and he remembers fifteen a little too well. Still… he thinks he did a pretty good job. And, really, Sylvia is better at following rules than Bethy ever had been at this age. 

 

“Woof,” Sylvia says in confusion, peeking around the sofa. “Woof woof?” 

 

“I don’t have a dog,” Will tells her. She looks supremely confused by this, but that kind of makes sense because she’s Jules’ daughter after all. Will has no doubt whatsoever that she will always have a dog in her life. “Sorry, kiddo.”

 

She doesn’t look any less perplexed, but she moves on, taking in her newfound environment little by little, peeking under the sofa and crawling beneath the coffee table.

 

“Need help with the pack-and-play?” Amelia asks, rejoining them and sliding her hand across Will’s shoulders before stroking her thumb along his spine at his neck. He sighs quietly at her touch, revelling in the feel of her fingers on his skin. 

 

“I got it,” he counters, turning his face to kiss the soft skin of her inner arm. She shivers in response and he smiles up at her. “Want to keep an eye on her in case I missed something with the babyproofing?”

 

“Happy to,” she agrees. And she is, that much is immediately clear as she leaves his side and bends down to peek her head under the coffee table where Sylvia is just about to emerge. The baby gives a little squeak of surprise or delight. “Are we playing hide-and-seek, little one?” Amelia asks with a blinding grin. Sylvia giggles madly and tries to scurry away, but Amelia reaches out and grabs the little girl, swooping her up and blowing a raspberry against her neck. 

 

Something about his niece’s laughter and his girlfriend’s flushed cheeks is utterly addictive and Will finds himself transfixed by the pair of them right up until Amelia turns away with the baby on her hip, talking softly to her as they head toward the kitchen. They make quite the picture together and Will finds himself hurrying to put together the pack-and-play so he can get back to being with them. The portable playpen/crib is fairly easy to set up and he’s done relatively quickly, moving it to his room before heading back out in search of Sylvia and Amelia.

 

They’re still in the kitchen and he finds them entirely because Sylvia can’t stop laughing. Those huge eyes of hers - so like Jules’, even if the color is different - alight with utter glee. She’s strapped into a booster seat at the table with a small plate of fruit in front of her, but she’s paying no attention at all to her snack, instead pulling a dishtowel away from Amelia’s face over and over in what has to be the world’s most entertaining game of peek-a-boo. 

 

Will would be hard pressed to guess which of them looks happier. The delight on Sylvia’s face seems to fuel Amelia’s joy and he’s just… he’s so taken by it that he can scarcely breathe. 

 

God, she’ll make an amazing mother. The very idea of her doing this with  _ their _ baby one day, of their home together being filled with this kind of laughter and joy, it sends his pulse racing and his heart on fire. And he  _ wants _ it.

 

If he hadn’t already bought a ring months ago, he’d be doing it the first chance he had now. 

 

Abruptly, Sylvia grabs the dishtowel and yanks it a away, throwing it across the room with another boisterous giggle. The mock surprise on Amelia’s face seems to further delight the little girl and in spite of the fact that Sylvia really doesn’t know Amelia all that well, it’s pretty clear she’s developed a fast affection for her so-called ‘Aunt.’

 

“Up!” she declares, reaching for Amelia. “Up, up, up.”

 

Amelia’s more than happy to hold the baby and she unstraps her quickly before hoisting her into her arms. Sylvia gives a happy little sigh, snuggling up as close as she possibly can - she’s been a cuddler from day one - and Amelia looks so overjoyed by the toddler’s affection that Will wouldn’t be surprised to see her cry. She strokes the baby’s dark hair as she holds her close, looking like there’s nowhere in the world she’d rather be. 

 

“Such a good girl, Sylvia,” Amelia assures her. “You’re very good at that game, do you know that? Thank you for playing with me.”

 

Sylvia nods and pats her on the cheek, like she’s offering up her approval, and it just makes Amelia smile more.

 

“You two look like you’re having fun,” Will tells them softly, closing in on the pair of them and wrapping his arms around Amelia before dropping a kiss atop Sylvia’s head. 

 

“We are,” Amelia assures him. “But I think maybe I’ve worn her out.”

 

“No!” Sylvia protests. It would be a lot more convincing if she didn’t break into a yawn immediately at the end. 

 

“You’re stronger than me, then!” Amelia tells her, raising both eyebrows as she looks down at the child. “You made me tired. I think I need a nap.”

 

“No,” Sylvia says again, shaking her head fiercely. 

 

“Well, if I don’t nap, I don’t know how I’ll play more,” Amelia confides. “And I’d love to play more with you later, sweetie. Uncle Will and I had fun ideas for us to do together, but I’m too tired right now. Can I nap? Maybe you can help me fall asleep if you lie down with me?” 

 

The skeptical look on Sylvia’s face is absolutely absurd for a one-year-old, and Will has to bite down on his lips to try and cage in a grin. Easygoing kid or not, she’s Jules’ daughter and the occasional case of extreme wariness is something she comes by honestly.  

 

“Up,” she says, turning toward Will and holding out her arms, clearly looking for an alternative to a nap. 

 

“I need a nap, too,” Will tells her. “Putting your bed together was a lot of work.” She huffs and clings to Amelia again - clearly he’s only good for avoiding naptime when Amelia’s around. He can’t resent that. He’d choose her company, too. 

 

“Let’s go see where Uncle put your pack-and-play. We’ll just check it out,” Amelia says. “Would you like to walk or have me carry you?”

 

The illusion of having a choice about what happens seems to help a bit and Sylvia clings to Amelia’s shirt muttering “up” on a yawn. Even as good and sweet as she is, naptime has never been easy with the little girl. She seems like she’s afraid she’s going to miss everything going on if she naps.

 

Amelia heads toward Will’s room - it’s hers too, more often than not these days - and bops Sylvia lightly on the nose as soon as they make it through the threshold. “Look at that!” she declares. “Uncle Will put it next to the bed so we can lie down right beside each other still. Wasn’t that a good idea? We should try it out.”

 

It  _ almost _ works. Sylvia’s interested enough that she doesn’t wail immediately. But the moment Amelia’s set her down in the makeshift crib she bursts out into tears, stomping her feet and lifting her arms skyward. “No! Up! Up!” 

 

“Okay, okay,” Amelia relents with a sigh, picking the baby up and soothing her hiccupping sobs by rubbing her back and making low hushing noises. There’s little chance of Sylvia letting go anytime soon, something it’s clear Amelia knows when she meets his eyes over the toddler’s head, giving a little shrug. 

 

“Momma?” Sylvia asks suddenly, looking around the room like she’s just realized her mother isn’t there. Her big eyes water and her lower lip quivers as she works herself up to another bout of hysteria.

 

“It’s just us for right now, Sylvia,” Will says, sitting on the bed next to Amelia and cupping the back of Sylvia’s head gently. “We’re having a play date. Your momma and papa will be back tomorrow.

 

She looks so helpless, casting her eyes between them, and it sort of breaks Will’s heart to see her distress. “ _ Momma _ ,” she says again in a resigned, mournful little voice that would absolutely gut Jules if she heard it. 

 

“Oh, sweetie. It’s okay,” Amelia consoles, rocking the little girl back and forth gently. Sylvia’s eyes droop tiredly, but she seems like she’s forcing them to stay open. “What does Jules sing to her to get her to sleep?” Amelia asks after a moment. 

 

Will finds himself blinking back at her in surprise. “I’m pretty sure her singing isn’t capable of putting  _ anyone _ to sleep,” Will informs her. 

 

“She doesn’t sing lullabies?” Amelia questions in surprise. 

 

“It’s incredibly clear right now that you’ve never heard my sister sing,” Will tells her. “Let’s just say it’s not one of her strengths.”

 

It is, however, one of Amelia’s. He’s known that for a very long time, since he walked into a supply room in City Hall more than a decade ago and stopped dead in his tracks, absolutely floored by her voice as she sang to herself, sifting through boxes of old files. Still, it’s not something he’s heard in a very long time now and it makes his breath catch in his throat when she stands up, starts pacing the room while holding Sylvia close and rocks the baby as she sings. 

 

And he’s not the only one. Sylvia looks utterly entranced as well, her lips parting as she stares up at Amelia in awe. 

 

_ Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby...  _

 

It’s incredible to watch the effect her voice has on Sylvia. For a moment, he’s tempted to take a video for Jules, but this feels too private for that, for some reason, too personal, and he finds he doesn’t want to share it. Not even with his sister. 

 

Amelia tucks the baby’s head into the crook of her neck and rocks her gently as she goes through the song three times, a little softer with each verse, and Sylvia is fast asleep before much time at all. 

 

“You’re incredible,” Will tells her without even thinking about the words as she settles the toddler down into the makeshift crib. Sylvia doesn’t stir in the least. 

 

“It’s just a song,” she murmurs, though she clearly looks pleased by his praise. 

 

“It’s not,” he counters, shaking his head and watching her in amazement. “It’s you. It’s everything about you.”

 

She blushes - actually blushes - as she looks down to where Sylvia sleeps soundly before taking Will’s fingers in hers and leading him out of the room. He follows easily, but doesn’t stop when she does, instead backing her up against the wall and pressing her to it with the length of his body as he cups her face in his hands and he kisses her breathless. 

 

He pours everything into that moment - everything he wants to say, every ounce of what he feels - and when he pulls back slightly, she looks beautifully dazed.

 

“What was that for?” she asks. Her voice is soft and a little weak, something he revels in as he touches his nose to hers and strokes his thumbs across her cheeks. He could not cherish this moment more if he tried.

 

“Every time I think I couldn’t possibly love you more, you prove me wrong,” he tells her. It’s simple, but true.

 

“Because I sang?” she asks with a little laugh. 

 

“For a million reasons,” he answers with painful sincerity. His voice is raw and a little hoarse as speaks, tracing the lines of her face with his gaze. Letting himself be vulnerable with her, with  _ any _ woman, had been a hard-won lesson, but it’s so very worth it and moments like this one prove that to him every single day. She slides her arms around his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and kisses him in a long, slow way that leaves him feeling simultaneously like the world might be dissolving beneath his feet and like the two of them are more unified than ever.

 

“I love you, too, Will,” she says, scraping her fingers through his hair when they finally part. She doesn’t go far. “So much.”

 

In the end, Sylvia doesn’t sleep all that long - maybe half an hour at most - but they spend the entire time making out on his sofa like teenagers. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips swollen, her shirt a lot less tidy and her ponytail nowhere near as neat by the time Sylvia loudly makes it known that her nap is done. 

 

He’s thirty-seven-years-old and this is the happiest he’s ever been in his entire life. 

 

Because of her. Because of himself. Because of how far they’ve come both individually and together. 

 

The future looks bright to him, these days. It’s not like everything’s perfect; it’s not. But the weekend plays out before him like a ghostly image of the future that holds everything he wants. And, for the first time maybe ever, it feels like it’s all in within his reach.

 

They shower Sylvia with enough love and attention that she only rarely asks for her parents and she copes pretty well well with the separation. Better than Jules and her husband, actually, if the text messages Will gets are anything to go by. But, they’re reassured by a handful of calls and a dozen photos of their little girl giggling and having fun. 

 

And she  _ does _ . 

 

Will and Amelia take her swimming and she delights in splashing them both in the face at every opportunity, but  _ especially _ her uncle. Will would love to dunk Amelia and start some kind of water war, but he doesn’t dare when one of them needs to keep a hand on the one-year-old at all times. So instead, he holds them both in his arms as Sylvia grins mischievously and slaps her hands against the surface of the pool over and over, sending a spray of water everywhere. 

 

The whole thing wears the little girl out and she falls asleep on Amelia’s lap watching Sesame Street shortly after they get back to his apartment and get cleaned up. Amelia makes no move to put her in the crib this time, though. And it’s a full hour later before Sylvia wakes and either of them go anywhere. Will hasn’t moved in that time, either, honestly. He’d wedged himself behind his girlfriend so that her head rested on his lap as the baby napped. They’d talked in hushed tones about plans for dinner, for the next day, for the game next weekend as he stroked her hair and Sylvia slept on. 

 

In some ways, it’s amazing how easily their lives change to accommodate a child. Sure, it’s just for a weekend, but everything feels like it slides just  _ slightly _ so that it all fits into place and Will finds himself thinking he could do this - they could do this - day in and day out. 

 

Some of that is a credit to Sylvia herself, though. She’s admittedly a very easy child, sweet and loving, generally happy and rule-abiding. She only tries once to get into Beth’s room - the teen isn’t around this weekend, but she still has her own space; she will always have a room at her brother’s home. The child safety door knob keeps her out, but she also doesn’t try it again after Will scolds her lightly.

 

The only real challenge with her comes around two in the morning when she wakes up in hysterics sobbing for her parents. That’s a hard moment and nothing Will or Amelia can say seems to make a difference. Amelia tries to sing to her, but it doesn’t work this time. Sylvia pushes Amelia’s face away with her little hands as she wails for her parents over and over again. 

 

It’s only when Will lies down, holding his niece against his chest that she starts to calm down. Her fingers stroke the tattoo on his bicep and she looks up at him with increasing awareness in her tired eyes. He talks to her in low tones, tells her stories about her mom, about her aunt and uncle, about her dad, about her grandparents. She probably doesn’t understand much of it, but his voice is soothing and she seems to find comfort against the warmth of his chest, curling up atop him and drifting back to sleep as he rubs her back and rambles on. 

 

When he’s sure she’s asleep, he finally looks to where Amelia lies next to him and finds her staring with an awed expression on her face and a look of realization in her eyes.  

 

“What?” he asks, wrinkling his brow as he smiles at her.

 

“Every time I think I couldn’t possibly love you more, you prove me wrong,” she echoes, repeating his words from earlier. “How did I get this lucky?” 

 

“We both did,” he replies immediately, slipping his hand into hers and intertwining their fingers together. 

 

“Yeah,” she echoes, scooting closer until they’re pressed against each other, Sylvia still fast asleep atop him. Amelia tugs his free arm around her and rests their joined hands on the baby. She’s basically as close as she can be, close enough that he can see the adoration in her eyes, the contentment, and it brings with it a surge of the most incredible feeling of completion. “We did,” she continues, pressing a chaste but meaningful kiss to his lips. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

 

“Amelia,” he sighs, soaking in her closeness and savoring it for the gift he knows it is. “It was always gonna be you. There was never another choice to make.” 

  
  



	9. May 2032

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Prompt/Question - Something angsty just occurred to me when you mentioned the [upcoming] Fathers Day one shot-what Will's first mother's day after Samantha dies must be like. Oliver and Felicity probably encourage him to join their mother's day crunch/celebrations as usual but don't push too hard. Will comes but leaves early. He checks in on David &Bethany but leaves again to visit Sams grave. Felicity finds him there&comforts him. He protests: she should be enjoying herday.I'm a mother Will,I can't be happyif my kids arent
> 
> WAY TO SEND ME ON A FUCKING ANGST SPIRAL, ANON. This became a HIGHLY DEPRESSING FLASHFIC with obvious warnings for coping with grief, loss and the death of a parent. I DID NOT ASK FOR THESE FEELS, ANON. (Written in about an hour)

**May 2032**

Will forgets about Mother’s Day until the week before when Nate gleefully whispers to him that he made his mom a necklace with glass beads and it’s really pretty and he thinks she’ll love it and isn’t that great? His heart sinks because he’d sort of blocked it all out of his mind entirely but _there it is_  right in front of him anyhow: the first mother’s day without his mom.

When he goes to work the next morning he immediately offers to swap shifts with a woman on his truck who has two little kids and she’s delighted to have Mother’s Day off. It helps... at first. Keeping busy is good. He learned that a while ago. 

Oliver invites him to dinner, not knowing about the shift change, and mentions that Felicity will understand either way. He mumbles back that he’s working but he bought her a nice plant - the kind she can’t easily kill because her gardening skills are right up there with her cooking skills. Oliver sees right through him but just says “okay” and squeezes his shoulder, adding “I’m here if you need anything. Even if it’s just to talk or to sit quietly at a bar with a couple of beers. Okay?” Will doesn’t take him up on that, but he’s grateful anyhow. 

The night before, he works out to the point of exhaustion, spending way too much time in his dad’s gym and not saying a damned word to anyone. He doesn’t even try to make it home, instead passing out in his-old-room-turned-guest-room at his dad’s house. He knows Felicity’s worried; she keeps hovering like she wants to say something. Hell, he knows they’re _all_  worried. Even Nate’s aware enough to be concerned, which is sort of astonishing until Will thinks about how much his baby brother loves his own mom. But he’s still more than a little surprised and incredibly touched when he wakes up the next morning to find Nate’s asleep on the floor in his sleeping bag. It might make Will a few minutes late for work, but he still stops to scoop the nine-year-old up and carry him back to his own room, tucking him into bed and ordering a very confused Buster - who cannot seem to figure out what one of the children is doing asleep somewhere other than a bed - to watch over the boy. 

Working through that first Mother’s Day without his mom turns out to be a mistake in more than one way. For one, he keeps thinking about David and Bethy. He should be there. He’d been so selfish wanting to work through the day and avoid thinking about it when he _knows_  David’s at home with his not-quite-two-year-old trying to cope with the death of his wife just three months ago. He can’t stop thinking about what they’re doing, if David needs someone to lean on, if Bethy needs someone to give her extra love and attention. But the bigger problem presents itself in his job itself. There’s a car wreck they respond to, a family on their way home from Mother’s Day brunch and the mom has dark hair and a bloody gash on her forehead that makes her features a little less discernible and every time Will blinks, it’s his mom. The woman lives - it’s not honestly that bad of an injury - but Will spends the next fifteen minutes after they get back to the firehouse throwing up in the bathroom and the minute he comes out, his captain orders him to go home and take the rest of the week off to get his head on straight, tells him he gets it but if this happens again he’s gonna insist he be cleared by a psychiatrist before coming back to work. 

It’s still early when he leaves, way before the end of his shift, and he knows he could make it to Felicity’s dinner or spend some time talking to his mom’s grave to try and clear his head, but neither of those places need him right now. And, as much as he loves his dad and Felicity and Jules and Ellie and Nate, they’re not what he needs right now, either. 

He relies a lot heavier on the self-drive feature of his car than usual as it steers itself to David’s house - it’s the same one his mom lived in and when he looks around, sometimes it almost seems like she’s still there. The rose bushes she’d loved are just starting to grow new buds and the potpourri scent she liked best still sits in a glass dish by the front door that he’d picked out with her when he was just a kid. But those memories of his mom - of her making this place _home_  - live in him and they live in David. They don’t live in Bethy. She’s so little. It’s only been three months, but she’s _so little._

“Hey,” Will says, feeling guilty as hell when he walks in and finds David with his shoulders hunched over and a drawn look on his face. There’s no judgement on his stepfather’s face, though, just surprise at seeing him. “Will! Hi-Hi!” Bethy greets him delightedly, reaching up in excitement. She’s only had her cast off for a month or so and the garish wound on her side from the accident has turned into a scar he’s pretty sure will never fade entirely. She doesn’t know about that, though. She doesn’t care. She’s 23 months old and she just wants the arms of someone who loves her, so Will scoops her up and kisses her forehead while she pats his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry,” he says. He’s talking to her, but he’s really talking to David and his stepfather knows it. “It’s okay. I get it,” David says, swallowing heavily. “I didn’t really want to be here today either.”

But he does, he thinks. He _does_  want to be here. Or, maybe it’s that he needs to be here. There’s nowhere and nothing that can make all of this right, that can bring her back. He wants that, wants it more than anything, just for a minute, just for a second. He wishes he could at least tell his mom he loves her, that he always will. He wishes they could have at least left things on better terms. It all feels so stupid now, the way he’d rushed her off the phone, the times they’d argued over his job or him taking his dad’s last name or his difficulty accepting David and Bethy. He’ll do better now. He’ll always be accept them, forever be there for Bethy in any way she needs. And he knows, deep down, that his mom knew he loved her. 

Still... he wishes he could at least finish their time together in a tone more in keeping with the bulk of the way they’d lived it together. 

Beth makes a noise like a fire engine and he smiles at her - how is that he ever _didn’t_  smile at Bethy. “Do color?” she asks, pointing toward the absurdly huge bin of sparkly crayons that Grandma Donna had added to virtually every day Bethany was in the hospital - like the power of glitter alone might heal the little girl. “No, I think we should do something else,” Will tells her. “I want to look at some pictures.”

“My pictures?” Bethy asks smiling brightly. “Yup,” Will agrees. “Yours and mine and your daddy’s and your momma’s.”

“Will,” David says. It’s too much for the widower and Will can see that right away. His eyes are red-rimmed and his stubble unshaven and this day has already been too much for him. “Just me and Bethy,” Will tells him kindly. “How about you go take some time to yourself. Take a shower, read a book... whatever. I’ve got Bethy and I’ll order up some dinner from that Thai place.”

“I, uh... I made lasagna last night,” David says, sounding almost guilty about it and sniffling as he rubs his nose. “I tried to follow her recipe, but you know how she was. I’m sure she left something out when she wrote it down... she was always doing that... It won’t be as good.”

God, but if that doesn’t sound like a metaphor that makes Will want to be sick all over again. Only, with his family, he knows exactly what piece is missing. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it anyhow,” he says, forcing himself to smile. David hugs him - that’s a new thing they do, only since his mom died, and Will is reminded starkly every time that the man has no one else - and he kisses Bethany about a half dozen times on her soft little cheeks before heading back to the room he used to share with his wife. 

Will doesn’t know how he does it. He doesn’t know how _any_  of them do it, but especially not David.  

He spends the next half an hour showing Bethany pictures of them with their mom, telling her stories about her own first steps or the day she was born or that time she threw an entire bowl of applesauce at her mom’s face. She won’t remember it this time, it won’t stick yet, but he’ll keep telling her, he decides, and eventually she’ll know these stories like her own name. Her mom will be a part of her life, if only through the secondhand retelling of it. 

They spend the next half hour coloring. Beth still just scribbles but she says it’s her family and she points to the blue one and says it’s her mom. Will figures that’s a start and he asks her if he can keep it. It winds up being the first of Bethany’s drawings to decorate his fridge, but it’s far from the last. 

David comes out a bit later. He looks ever-so-slightly better and the three of them eat a mediocre knockoff of his mom’s lasagna. They’ll never get it right. It’ll never be the same. But they’ll find a new usual way of making it that’s pretty good, anyhow. Will sticks around after dinner, cleaning up the dishes while David cleans up Bethany. She about breaks his damned heart when she heads to bed after her bath though. “Night-night, Will,” she says, kissing his cheek. “Night-night, Dada,” kissing her father. “Night-night, Momma,” she adds blowing a kiss to a picture on the wall. Will fakes a smile until she’s out of sight, headed to her bedroom, and then he ugly cries over the sink the entire time that David somehow manages to tuck Bethy in. 

It’s not _fair_. Not to Bethany. Not to David. Not to his mom. And not to him. Sometimes it makes him so angry he could scream, _has_  screamed, but that does no good and it just leaves him feeling more broken and helpless afterwards, so he tries to breathe through those feelings and just let them go. He’s a firefighter, damn it. He knows how unfair life is, has seen it fade out of people’s eyes right in front of him. But his mom... his mom... 

“You okay?” David asks, startling him. “No,” he answers. “I’m really not.” David makes a noise that’s more a grunt of agreement than anything else. “That makes two of us,” his stepfather agrees. 

David’s not ready to talk about her directly - can’t even say Samantha’s name - and he’s definitely not going to sit around looking at pictures. But the two of them sit on the back porch with a pair of beers until David complains what a bitch it is to take care of rosebushes and Will points out that he thinks the lasagna usually has more garlic and, in spite of everything, that feels like a start. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long while ago, I wrote this as a response to a question about Will losing his mother. It's one of those replies that sort of feels like a short fic, but also sort of just feels like background info. Two people asked me today to post it here, so... here you go. 
> 
> Warnings for sudden death of a parent and serious injury to an infant.

Will had talked to his mom that morning, but he’d been distracted and kind of in a rush to hang up. They’d been a little more distant in recent years, both because Will’s a grown-up living his life and because he’s never quite accepted his mom getting married to David. They aren’t on _bad_  terms, but they’re not as close as they used to be. That frustrates Samantha more than Will, though. He’s at work when he gets a phone call from his stepdad. David tries to keep it vague, but he’s such a mess of grief that it’s obvious something is very, very wrong. All he manages to say is that Will needs to get to the hospital right away, that it’s an emergency and that he should have his dad meet him there. 

He’s in a panic at that point. He’s too nauseous to drive, too worried to see straight, but one of his roommates (both of whom work with him) drives him to the hospital and he calls his dad on the way. Somehow, they get there at the same time. David’s alone and he looks worse than he sounded. He barely manages to choke out what happened and Will doesn’t even realizes the voice saying “No, No, No” over and over is his own, trying so hard to push back reality, to block the words like that might change things. But he can’t. 

A bunch of high school kids were idiots drag racing. They both ran the red light and they both slammed into Samantha’s car going more than twice the speed limit. She probably never saw them coming, David tells him - as if that might make it better. Samantha was killed immediately, David spares him the details. Both of the other drivers died, too. So did their passengers, none of the teens had been wearing a seat belt. The only one to survive the crash was Bethany and she’s very, very touch-and-go at the moment. The doctors have told him he should prepare for the worst, just in case. Will can’t keep upright on his own. He’s a sobbing mess and his knees give out, but his dad is there to catch him. 

Will clings to his dad. He’s always been open emotionally, so much more so than Jules or even Nate, maybe even more than Ellie, and that’s not different now. His fingers dig into his dad as he holds on like he might disappear, too. In truth, Will has always worried more about losing his dad, given what he does. His mom had always seemed… so safe. But his father is fine and _here_. Oliver holds his oldest for what feels like forever. His boy is 23 years old, but it seems about seven all over again as he cries and calls him daddy. Oliver cries, too. For Will, for Samantha, for their splintered family, for the absolute senselessness of it all. 

After his mom’s death, Will is never quite the same, but that’s not really a bad thing. He’s always been a great brother, a wonderful son and a good man, but he’s so much more driven after his mom’s death. He doubles down on his commitments to his family, especially to Bethany - who makes a long, slow, full recovery - and to his stepdad, who clearly needs him now more than ever. Will feels a bit like a jerk for never giving the guy a real chance before, but he can’t change the past and he knows his mom would want them to be there for each other now. So, he is. He’s the only real help David has, honestly. Will’s stepsister Macy is away at college on the East Coast. She’s never dealt with loss or death well and she avoids doing anything more than she has to that involves facing it now. When she graduates, she stays back East. David’s 50. One of his parents is gone and the other is in a memory care facility. He has no siblings. It’s really just him and Will and… thank goodness Will is the man he is, because David would have been overwhelmed otherwise. 

Will takes only weeks off of work after his mom dies. His Aunt Thea helps him plan his mom’s funeral. David can’t talk about it beyond saying ‘thank you’ for everything they do. Will spends most of those two weeks at the hospital. It feels like he’s holding his breath waiting for news on Bethy. He doesn’t sleep at all the first night, afraid if he closes his eyes he’ll wake up to find his baby sister is gone. The only reason she survived the crash is the car seat he bought her, he’s told. Will has seen a lot of injuries and a lot of hurt kids in his line of work. He’s meticulous about car seat safety and had spent a small fortune on the very best safety rated car seat on the market for his little sister, installing and inspecting it regularly himself. The doctor tells him that the seat saved her life.

Jules shows up to keep Will company at some point every day - he loses track of time and what day it is pretty quickly. She never says anything, just lifts his arm to make a space for herself and curls up against his side. Felicity very quietly arranges for all of Bethany’s tremendous medical bills to be paid and flies in a top ranked pediatric trauma doctor in to consult. Nate and Ellie both come by after school a few times - he’s pretty sure Jules skipped class at least once to be with him instead. Nate is awkward, shifts back and forth on his feet and says he’s sorry, but looks like he’s got no clue what to say. Ellie is all optimism about Bethany and tight hugs. His dad never leaves his side and Will is painfully grateful for that because he needs him right now. He needs his dad and Felicity and Jules and Ellie and Nate and even David, who looks like he aged a decade in the span of a phone call. 

It’s his family that proves to Will he has people to lean on and it’s them he’s dedicated to always being there for - David and Bethany included. After his mom’s funeral, which passes in a blur - Will goes back to work. Even if he’d been first on the scene, he knows he couldn’t have saved his mom. But that doesn’t mean he can’t save someone else’s. He channels his grief into his work and his family. Long after the pain of losing Samantha starts to dull a little, becomes something that feels more manageable, his devotion to his family and his job hold fast. Samantha’s death shapes the man Will grows into in a very real way and it’s absolutely someone that she would have been proud of. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous Tumblr Question - thinking about early-on-Amiliam made me wonder: was the gala the first time Felicity learned about Amelia being more than Moira's "protegé"? because for me, those early years are so closely associated with the camping trip (probably more than it is for Will lol) and I was just wondering what exactly Oliver told her about that
> 
> This isn’t exactly an answer to that, but the question totally prompted it.

**August 2032**

“Nathaniel! What do you think you are doing?”

Ten-year-old Nate freezes stock still, a plate of cinnamon rolls his dad baked yesterday in one hand. “Um... Having a snack?” he asks sheepishly. His mother is _not_ amused.

“Dinner is in like half an hour, young man. And despite your best impersonation, you are not a bottomless pit,” she informs him. “Put it back.”

“Mom,” he whines. It does no good at all, earning him a harder stare and unrelenting raised eyebrows instead. 

“You ate so much sugar last night that you made yourself sick, Nate,” she points out. 

“It was worth it,” Nate tells her immediately. And it _had_ been. Not just because cotton candy is his absolute favorite, but because spending time with Will is kind of awesome, even if the rides they could do together at the fair were limited with Will having to mind Bethy. But at least they’d run into one of the guys Will works with near the roller coaster and he’d volunteered to hold Bethy so Will could do _one_ of the big rides with Nate. That was so cool. Even if he’d thrown up all over the ground the moment they’d gotten off. 

“Well, I’m glad you had a good time with your brother,” his mom acknowledges.

“Yeah, Will’s awesome,” Nate agrees. 'Awesome’ is his new favorite word lately, but it totally fits this time. “It would’ve been even cooler if Amelia could have come, too, though. Can I have a banana?”

“Can you...” his mom starts before her voice trails off and she blinks at him. “No, you can wait for dinner. Who’s Amelia?”

“Oh! She works for grandma,” Nate says excitedly, momentarily forgetting about his craving for a snack. “I told you about her the other day. She’s the best. She’s so good at her job and she’s really nice to me and she never makes me feel like I’m just a little kid that shouldn’t be there. She lets me be helpful.” Nate sort of adores Amelia for that. A lot of people seem like they’re ready to pat him on the head and tell him to let the grown-ups work. Not Amelia. He wonders if maybe she knows what that feels like. 

“Nate...” his mom says slowly. Her grin is huge - large enough that it’s slightly frightening and leaves Nate looking around the room wondering what he’s missing. “Is this Amelia... pretty?”

“Well... sure, I guess,” Nate says. What a weird question. 

“And you really like working with her, huh?” His mom’s smile is really strange. It makes no sense at all, so Nate stops trying to interpret it and just answers the question instead. 

“Sure...” he agrees slowly. 

“Honey,” his mom huffs, shaking her head at him. “Do you _like_ this Amelia?”

“Yeah, she’s really great,” Nate replies. It’s said slowly, because Nate is starting to wonder if maybe his mom has gone a little crazy or something. 

“No, sweetheart,” she sighs. “I mean _like_ her. Like... have a bit of a crush on her.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Nate exclaims, eyebrows shooting up over the top of his glasses in surprise as he tries - and fails - to fight down the blush rushing to his cheeks. “No that’s... no.” There’s a nervous laugh. He doesn’t. He definitely does _not_ have a crush on Amelia. She’s like Will’s age, which is super old, and also Nate pretty much thinks girls are a distraction right now. But she is pretty and she’s nice and he can totally see where the question is coming from, which is embarrassing on its own. “I’m _ten_ mom.”

“Okay, Nate. If you say so,” his mom smiles. She looks far too self-satisfied in this moment as she moves to grab a glass and fill it with water. 

“I really don’t,” he repeats. “I just like that she is nice to me. And, anyhow, there’s something going on with her and Will.”

His mom’s water glass stops halfway to her mouth. “Your brother has _something going on_ with a woman who works for your grandmother?” she asks after a beat.

“Maybe?” Nate questions, shrugging. “What do I know? I’m _ten_.”

“Your brother is...” his mom starts before cutting herself off and clearly thinking through what she wants to say. “He’s very charming. And he likes pretty girls. But that doesn’t even mean he _knows_ this Amelia.”

“Oh, he does,” Nate replies, nodding with certainty. “They met years ago when he and dad and I went camping. Remember when Will came home and said he decided to be a firefighter? He met her that trip.”

His mom sets her glass down on the counter and looks at him incredulously. “ _Two years_ ago? You’re telling me your brother has paid attention to the same girl for _two years_?”

“Well... no,” Nate says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t think they spend time together or anything. But, he definitely wants to. He tried to get her to go with us to the fair. He offered her a piggyback ride and said he’d win her a stuffed animal and everything! I think she wanted to say yes, but she didn’t.”

“...Huh,” his mom says, quirking her head to the side like she does when she’s trying to sort through a particularly difficult piece of coding. 

“Yeah,” Nate says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t get it, either. Who turns down going to the fair? The fair is fun. I don’t think Will got it either, because he kept looking around like he was hoping to see her, but she never showed up. He won her a stuffed animal anyhow, though. I’m supposed to put it on her desk next time I go in.”

The surprise on his mom’s face is undeniable. “Nate...” she ventures slowly. “I think I’m going to need you to tell me everything you know about this Amelia.”

“Now?” Nate asks, casting a glance toward the back yard where his dad is nearly done with the grill.

But his mom just nods and there’s nothing negotiable about it at all when she replies “Absolutely.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Ask - Okay so um I'm going to need you to me a HUGE favor. It will literally make my life if you do. Can you pretty please with a cherry on top write a flash fic about Amelia finding the stuffed animal on her desk? Does it come with a note? Does she see Nate leaving it? What is going through her mind? AHHHH I NEED THIS LIKE I NEED OXYGEN
> 
>  
> 
> Far be it from me to not take the opportunity to make someone's life... ;-)
> 
> Takes place shortly after the previous chapter.

Amelia shows up to work on Monday morning at 6:15 with coffee in one hand and a tablet in her other. She’s so focused on her routine that she nearly sits on the stuffed animal in her chair. 

Or, technically, it’s not _exactly_  an animal, is it? 

She jumps in surprise, gives a little squeak at the sight of the big, bright, plush decoration and looks around her. As usual, she’s the first one in and there’s not a soul in sight. But that doesn’t mean she has no idea who left her gift. She does. She knows immediately. She’d have known without the card propped up on it. 

“ _Next time, I’ll win you whichever one you want. Until then, I hope this makes you smile.  
_ _~Will_  
(721) 555-3523”

For a moment she just stares at the note in her hand, eyeing his phone number like a really fantastic piece of chocolate while she’s on an absurdly strict diet. He’s entirely too appealing and it’s going to be a _problem_  if he keeps this up. 

But... but it would be rude not to say ‘thank you,’ right? 

She moves the gift, placing it on her desk as she sits down and stares at it, shaking her head a moment before she takes out her phone. She hesitates only a moment before adding his number to her contact list - just for now, she tells herself - and punching out a text message. 

“ _I have to say, these are the most hardy flowers anyone’s ever gotten me. Thank you_ ,” she types out. Her finger hesitates over the send button for a long moment, but the plush, fake vase of colorful daisies, each wearing a smiley face like a grinning emoji is staring right at her and she taps the send key without letting herself think too hard about it. 

The next three and a half minutes feel like an eternity. There’s a riot of nerves living in the pit of her stomach and she chews her lip as she wills her screen to light up with his reply. 

Which is _absurd_. She has no intention of this going anywhere. It can’t go anywhere. She is serious and career-focused and she doesn’t have the time - or the confidence - to take risks on a high-profile playboy like Will Queen. But that’s rational. It’s not emotional. And it doesn’t keep her heart from fluttering or her palms from sweating as she waits. 

“ _Amelia_?” Her heart actually leaps when his response comes through.

“ _Are you leaving giant stuffed daisies on other girls’ desks, too???”_  she questions, curling her legs up beneath her in her office chair. She feels like she’s fifteen again and trading messages with a boy from school from the solitude of her bedroom, hiding it from her parents just because it felt too private to share. God, is she glad her coworkers aren’t prone to being on time. 

“ _No!”_ he insists immediately. “ _I just hadn’t exactly expected to hear from you_.”

“ _Because it’s so early?”_ she asks, looking for clarity.

“ _Sure_ ,” he agrees. “ _We can go with that_.”

At all... he’d meant at all. She can understand why, but it still feels a little gutting and it leaves a pang of longing resonating in her chest. He’d gotten her something - something kind of sweet and thoughtful - and he hadn’t even expected to hear a thank you from her. That alone is enough to push her to keep this conversation going.

“ _I hope I didn’t wake you up_ ,” she says, looking at her clock. 

“ _Amelia, I’d be more than happy to have you wake me up any day_ ,” he replies immediately. She snorts even as she blushes and shakes her head at her phone. She can practically _hear_  the innuendo in his voice, picture him saying it, and in spite of the fact that she probably shouldn’t like it, it leaves her oddly turned on for before seven a.m. on a Monday at work. “ _Sorry_ ,” he follows up with a second later. 

“ _No you’re not_ ,” she sends back immediately.

“ _You’re right. I’m not. I meant it_ ,” he agrees, followed up almost immediately with. “ _But no, you didn’t wake me up. I just got off work_.”

“ _Late shift_?” she asks, taking the subject change into more comfortable territory with gratitude.

“ _They’re all late shifts._ ” She can practically hear his smile. “ _We pull 24-hours.”_

_“You’ve got to be exhausted...”  
_

_“Not too tired to buy you a cup of coffee_ ,” he ventures. “ _I could meet you at that little place across the street from City Hall in ten minutes, if you want_.”

Does she want? Yes... yes she does. The same way she wants to splurge on a nicer car or to have an enormous dessert in place of her dinner. It’s enticing, sounds delicious, but it’s probably a bad idea in the long run. 

“ _I already have a coffee_ ,” she tells him. 

“ _I’ll buy you another,”_ he answers. “ _Or, maybe I’ll just bring you real flowers_.”

Oh god, there’s a thought... Will showing up at her office with a bouquet in hand wearing a dopey grin and his firefighter uniform. Just the notion is enough to make her head spin. 

“ _You can’t do that, Will_ ,” she says, licking her lips and swallowing hard as she tries to push down the thought. “ _What would my coworkers say_?”

“ _That you’ve got a not-at-all secret admirer?”_

“ _Will_...”

“ _Does that make you uncomfortable? You got to know it’s true. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to get to know you better_.”

That’s... that’s too much, but only because she understands it entirely. She’d watched the fireworks at the fair from her apartment balcony, wondering what it would be like if she’d been the sort of girl to step outside her comfort zone and take a chance. It would have been nice. It would have been better. 

Maybe she should just say yes. Maybe she should have a fling, let him take her to bed and just get _past_  this absurdly lingering tension with a few days of really fantastic sex. She’s actively debating it, full-on fantasizing about what it would be like to have every ounce of his attention wrapped up in her... for a little while, anyhow. It would be incredible, she knows that much for sure. Their chemistry is undeniable. He’s sexy as hell. And a man like Will... well, she suspects he is very good at pleasing a woman. 

She’s gearing herself up to reply, letting all of her earlier common sense fly right out of her head as her body riles itself up with very vivid images of her and Will tangled together flashing before her mind’s eye. 

“ _The evil Queen will let you out for a cup of coffee, Amelia. She’s not gonna keep you locked away in a tower all the time. If she tries, toss some water on her. I bet she’ll melt_.”

That’s... he means Moira. He means his own grandmother and her boss. Her heart sinks a bit as she forces herself to let go of possibilities. How he can go from being so suave and so enticing to being so... so _childish,_ she really doesn’t know. The first version of him, the one who says all the right things to her and lives a life of public service and is fully committed to being there for his family... that Will Queen looks like everything she wants, everything she longs for. But this petty, overgrown little boy he turns into whenever his grandmother comes up... she wants no part of that.

“ _I’m sorry, Will. I already have a coffee and I need to get to work. Thank you for the ‘flowers,’ though. They were very thoughtful.”_

It’s a very long couple of minutes before he replies. She knows she’s hurt him, can practically picture him sitting there staring at his phone, wondering what he could have done differently. 

“ _You’re welcome_ ,” he replies a solid fifteen minutes later. “ _If you ever want to grab that cup of coffee... you’ve got my number. Have a nice day, Amelia_.”

“ _Get some rest, Will. And have a good day off_.” 

She pinches her eyes shut and lets out a long, slow, strained breath as she pockets her phone. When she opens her eyes back up, there’s a plush, bright blue daisy smiling back at her. Despite knowing the questions that will come from her coworkers, despite actively trying to put Will out of her mind, she doesn’t move the ‘bouquet.’ Not now, not next week, not next month. It stays on the corner of her desk, smiling back at her until she moves to Central City. And when she gets there, it’s one of the first things she unpacks. 


	13. May 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Ask - Do we get to see little Will again? I LOVED the the chapter when he went Christmas shopping with Felicity!
> 
> Credit to the anon as well as @bookwormandpoet for tagging me with FiCoN feels on a post by @lyricalarrow over on Twitter... definitely inspired by all three.

**May 2016**

Will’s dad’s house is _huge_. The first time he came over, he’d wondered exactly how many kids his dad planned on having because who could possibly need this much space? His dad had laughed really, really hard at that and hugged him so fiercely, so honestly that Will had thought his heart might just burst with joy. 

“ _Don’t worry about someday, buddy,”_ his dad had said. “ _I’ve got you and soon we’ll have your sister. That’s the perfect number of kids for right now.”_

And he’d _meant_  it. Hearing his dad say so freely, so earnestly, that having him is ‘perfect?’ Even from those first few interactions, that had meant so much more to Will than he could have ever guessed.

So, for that matter, does his little sister. 

Despite some momentary misgivings about how Jules would effect his place in his dad’s family, Will has loved his baby sister from the moment he found out about her. In fact, maybe he’s loved her since before that. His mom had done her very best to be everything he needed. “You and me against the word, kiddo. That’s all we need,” she used to tell him with a tiny, conspiratorial grin as she held up her pinkie to lock together with his, a promise and a secret wrapped up in one.  

His mom’s amazing - best mom in the world to his eyes - but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t longed for family beyond just her. He had. He used to daydream about having a brother. Sometimes it was a twin. They’d kick the ball around out back together and one of them would distract his mom so that the other could steal cookies from the kitchen before they shared the spoils between them. He always looked with longing at the other kids in school when their dads showed up and it had hurt so much knowing that would never happen for him. 

But then it _did_. And, oh, but it’s been better than he could have ever dreamed because his dad is amazing and so is Felicity and, before long, so is his baby sister. 

He’d hoped for a brother at first, of course. But, surprisingly, he found he was every bit as excited to greet a sister. It feels, in some ways, like she cements his place in his dad’s family. He’s not even sure he can sort out _why_  he feels that way, but he does. Suddenly, with her, he’s not alone. 

And she’s got him wrapped around her little finger from the first moment he holds her, sitting on that cramped little sofa in the hospital with his dad’s arm wrapped around the both of them. It’s been sixteen months since that day and not a single ounce of wonder and joy Will feels when he looks at his baby sister has faded. 

His room in his dad’s enormous house is a floor up from Jules’ nursery. That’s kinda cool because it means he can usually get a full night’s sleep when he’s here, even if she’s cutting a tooth - like last night - and he can have the tiny Legos in his room that can’t be near her because she’ll eat them. But, he still finds himself spending more time on her floor than his. 

Like now... now he’s messing around with clay in the playroom on her floor while she naps. While _everyone_  naps, honestly. His dad and Felicity had had a long night filled with one miserable little girl whose gums were all purple and swollen where she had a tooth trying to break through. He’d stayed up later than he was supposed to, too, trying to come up with ways to soothe Jules. He’d hated that she was hurting and he had no way to fix it. He’d confessed this to his dad the third time he’d been marched back to his room and told to _sleep_. His father had just sighed and kissed his mop of hair - his mom keeps trying to get him to cut it - saying “ _You’re telling me, buddy.”_

He’d stayed in his room for the rest of the night. He’s got no clue how late his dad and Felicity were up with Jules, but the fact that his dad had sleepily made him oatmeal in the morning instead of waffles felt like a big sign. And he hadn’t been surprised at all when his dad and Felicity had asked if he minded if they tried to take a nap while Jules did. He hadn’t. There’s plenty to keep him occupied at his dad’s house. And, even as a second grader he’d seen the relief on their faces as they’d allowed exhaustion to sink in before trudging up to their room.  

But, he realizes, pausing mid-creation of a drawbridge for his clay castle, his dad and soon-to-be-stepmom were a whole lot more tired than his baby sister. It hasn’t even been two whole episodes of _Jake and the Neverland Pirates_ yet and he can already hear her talking to herself with fast-increasing urgency.

He hurries down the hall toward the nursery, wiping his hands against jeans in a token gesture torward cleanliness as he goes. He skids to a stop in front of her door, the rubber soles of his sneakers leaving a treadmark against the wood - not that he notices - and he peeks open her door the tiniest bit. 

She quiets instantly. He can see her standing on her tiptoes, bright blue eyes staring over the top of her crib as she watches the door with unbridled excitement. 

He snicks the door shut and she laughs loudly, bouncing on the mattress of her crib. She likes this game. And, really, so does he. 

He peeks the door open scarcely an inch, no wider than before, and this time he can see her crouched down like she’s trying to hide, too. But the top half of her head is visible over the railing of the crib and her eyes widen in delight as she spots him staring at her. 

“ _Wuh!”_ she shouts loudly as she stands stock straight up and bounces insistently. “ _Wuh! Wuh!”_

He’s not sure if she’s trying for his name or ‘want,’ but either way her message is clear - she’s definitely done napping. Her parents, however, are not, so Will throws the door open wide and stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. There’s very little Will enjoys more than making his baby sister laugh and, for some reason, this absolutely does it. She falls back on her little diapered butt in a fit of giggles.

It’s contagious. 

“Shhhhh,” he says, laughing as he hushes her and walking over to the crib. “Dad and your momma are still asleep, Julie-bug. Don’t wake them up, okay? I’ve got you.”

She looks over at the baby monitor, so in spite of the fact that she isn’t able to say a whole lot of words yet, he’s pretty sure she understands him. 

“Do you want me to help you break outta there?” he asks, tapping the bars to her crib. 

“Up!” she demands loudly, getting back on her feet and reaching for him. She’s trying to climb over the rail to get to her big brother when he scoops her up, more or less dragging her over the edge of the railing. He’s not that tall yet, after all. It’s a good thing Jules is small. And light. And _hardy_. He’s dropped her more than once, but she always seems to just be surprised instead of hurt. “Wuh!” she declares again, patting both of his cheeks with her pudgy little hands. 

So she _is_  trying to say his name, he decides, grinning with pride. 

“Will,” he corrects, pointing at his lips. “ _Will_.”

“Wuh,” she says again, looking at him like he’s nuts. Clearly she’s got this, after all. 

“Good enough,” he decides. “You’re getting there, Julie-bug. Pretty soon we won’t be able to get you to _stop_  talking.”

“Wuh,” she repeats proudly, squishing his cheeks firmly before leaning in and putting a big, wet kiss on the side of his face. It’s slobbery as anything and she splutters as she breathes out hard against his face, but that kind of thing has never bothered Will and he just laughs before wiping away the trail of drool she leaves on his face.  

Her eyes are bright, absolutely alight with excitement and she wriggles her little butt, nearly dancing in his arms. He knows what she wants. There’s not even a question in his head. But he’s not gonna do it standing. 

Balancing her carefully with one arm and using the crib slats for support, he eases himself down onto the floor, settling cross-legged with Jules perched on his lap. She pulls back slightly, curving her head down to protect her little neck. 

“Oh you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?” he asks. reaching with the fingers of one hand to tickle at her neck. She giggles and pushes his hand away. 

“ _No_!” she says loudly.

He stops, sits back, leaning on his palms as he gives her a look. “Okay,” he agrees. Her brow furrows and she looks at him with confusion all over her face. “You said no so I won’t tickle you,” he tells her. “Wouldn’t be nice if I did.”

She wants to take it back, but she doesn’t have the words yet. He can see it. She huffs, looking so very serious, and gives a whine of annoyance as she searches for a way to express herself. The minute she figures it out, her whole face changes, frustration and seriousness melting away. She pulls up her shirt and points at her own belly as she sticks her tongue out and spits messily in Will’s direction. 

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, laughing as he wipes her spit off his face. “You want _raspberries_  do you?”

“Do!” she grins, wriggling in place on his knees and hunching slightly like she’s readying for attack. “Do, Wuh.”

“Pretty sure I can manage that,” he answers picking her up by her armpits and blowing a loud raspberry against her midsection. She shrieks with delight, grabbing onto his shoulders as she laughs. He’s laughing too when he pulls back and takes in the sight of her. She brings so much joy to his life. And he brings so much joy to hers. He hopes that’s always true because he loves his baby sister with every little bit of his heart. 

“Do ‘gain. Do,” Jules says, wriggling her belly at him. 

“Oh... boy you asked for it Julie-bug,” he tells her before flopping her on her back on the floor and attacking with a series of raspberries that leave her midsection vibrating as she laughs so hard she can barely catch her breath. He breaks off in laughter, resting his chin against her tummy and looking up at her happy little face. “You peed, didn’t you?” he asks her. “You laughed so hard you peed.”

She grins and nods. “Well that’s just gross, Julie-bug,” he tells her. She’s a baby. She couldn’t care less. “What are you gonna do about that now? You’ve got a wet diaper and I’m sure not changing it.”

The pensive look on her face is _adorable_ , but it’s not her voice that speaks up next. 

“I think she’s a bit young to be taking care of that herself.”

“Dada!” Jules announces from her spot on the floor. She points to her belly and sticks out her tongue before saying, “Wuh do.”

“I heard,” their dad says, giving her the softest look imaginable. Who’d have thought _this guy_  put on a mask and strapped on a bow to hunt down criminals at night? It’d surely floored Will when he’d found out... in the best way possible. His dad had already been his hero, but to find out he was a _superhero_  too? Oh, wow, but that was amazing. 

“We were trying not to wake you,” Will tells their dad sheepishly as he heads over to the baby monitor and shuts it off, something Will now realizes he ought to have done himself a bit ago. “Sorry.”

His dad smiles and shakes his head, grabbing the wipes and a clean diaper before he sits on the floor next to them. Jules climbs over to his lap to blow a raspberry kiss against his cheek, just as she’d done to her brother a few minutes before. Their dad looks like he couldn’t actually be happier.

“I know you don’t get this yet, Will. Maybe someday you will. But there is absolutely nothing better in the world than waking up to hear your kids laughing and playing together,” he says, holding Jules against his chest and rubbing a hand over her back. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’m pretty sure I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

Will ducks his head for a moment and blushes bashfully at that as his dad ruffles his hair. He doesn’t want to contradict his father, but he knows he’s wrong. His dad can’t be the luckiest guy in the world. Will knows this because - as he glances back up and watches his amazing baby sister and the best father anyone’s ever had - there’s not a doubt in his mind that that honor falls to him. 


	14. July 2036... in some universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One small change could have set things on an entirely different course for Will and Amelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't betaed but it's not exactly a flashfic either... I spent a few days on it. Writing isn't coming easily right now and this was something I felt like I could do so... here it is. Please note this is an ALTERNATE look at what MIGHT have happened and not what actually happened with Will and Amelia.

**July 2036  
**  
It could have gone like this. In another universe, in one of those that splits off through infinite manifestations of choice, it does. There, the taxi driver turns right instead of left and there’s no cab for Amelia to hail after she leaves brunch. It gives her time to think, time to doubt herself.  
  
And time, you see, makes all the difference.  
  
She calls her mother in this world, seeks out a voice and an opinion utterly opposite from the one she would have gotten from Moira Queen. And the counsel she gets sinks in deep, takes root in her heart and grows in frightening, beautiful ways.  
  
_“Life’s too short for so many ‘maybes,’ Baby Girl, and just being ‘okay’ isn’t okay. You deserve more than that… But you knew that, didn’t you? That’s why you called me. Your heart already knows the right path, you just needed someone to tell you to listen to it.”_  
  
It all roils around in her head as she texts Moira to cancel their meeting. It plays on repeat, echoing over and over - _life’s too short for so many maybes_ \- as she drives back to Central City earlier than planned. And when she gets there, when she walks in her apartment and comes face to face with Thad and the future she’d told herself she wanted, she finds she has a surprising sense of certainty about her new course for herself.  
  
But it still takes a solid week before she heads back to Starling.  
  
When she does, Will is well past expecting to see her.  
  
It’s been a long morning already at Will’s place, but it feels like he’s simultaneously just getting started on his day and ready for a nap. He loves when Bethy stays at his place, but the six-year-old can definitely run him ragged. She’d woken him up at the crack of dawn, dive-bombing onto his bed. All his attempts at getting her to just cuddle and go back to sleep proved absolutely fruitless when she batted her little eyelashes at him and said she was ‘ _soooooo hungry, Will_ ’ and wasn’t he going to make her his extra-special, super-famous french toast just because he loves her?  
  
She’s such a little manipulator sometimes and she absolutely knows which buttons to push to get her way. One day he won’t let that happen, but today is not that day.  
  
Somehow, the morning had gotten away from them both. Beth had practically inhaled her french toast, but had managed to spill her orange juice all over both of them. That had meant she’d needed a bath and he needed to do laundry immediately. He doesn’t really know _how_ it winds up nine o’clock with his stepfather at his door, but it does. At least Beth’s ready to go when her dad gets there, even if her hair is dripping wet still, but Will has yet to even make himself a cup of coffee or grab himself a clean shirt.  
  
Maybe he should expect that by now. She’s a whirlwind of activity that leaves chaos in her wake. Today, that chaos is mostly comprised of stickiness - thanks to a combination of orange juice and maple syrup - and what might be the world’s largest Lego collection. The first is an annoyance and means he’ll spent a solid hour wiping down everything within a six-year-old’s reach. But the second is actually a bigger problem. He learned the hard way the pain that goes along with stepping on the damned things. So, barefoot and still shirtless, the minute Beth’s out the door with her father, Will grabs the toy bin and gets to work picking up the hazards to his feet left strewn absolutely everywhere.  
  
When the doorbell rings a few minutes later, he assumes Beth forgot something - probably Blaze, the stuffed dragon she drags with her everywhere - and he doesn’t think twice before pulling open the door.  
  
“Hey, did you forget someth-” his voice cuts out mid-word as he looks up and finds the person at his door is absolutely not who he expected. At all.  
  
“Amelia… h… hi. _Hi_.”  
  
She looks as anxious as he suddenly feels, his heart doing some kind of crazy acrobatics in his chest as he soaks in her presence. She’s stunning, as always, but more casual than he’s used to seeing her, wearing a perfectly snug pair of jeans and a cute top that barely reveals a hint of her stomach. She’s a vision, though, and he stands there blinking at her as he fights the urge to pinch himself and make sure this is real.  
  
“Sorry,” she says, shifting her weight and breaking eye contact with him. “It’s early. It’s probably too early. I didn’t think… I shouldn’t have assumed you were up. Or… alone. I’ll just-”  
  
“No,” he blurts out in a rush. He reaches out to grab hold of her wrist without even realizing he’s moving. It’s instinctive. She might not have finished her thought, but he’s well aware she’s preparing to leave and harboring some big misconceptions about his morning. “My sister,” he adds hurriedly as she looks back. The nervousness, the hesitant shimmer of hope that lives in her eyes when she meets his gaze makes his heart pound faster. There’s an openness there, a vulnerability that he’s not used to seeing from her. And he craves it, wants to cradle that fragile inkling of possibility and keep it safe. He’d do almost anything for that chance.  
  
“Your sister?” she asks.  
  
“Bethany just left,” he elaborates, holding up his other hand with a Lego between his fingers like he’s offering up proof. It takes everything he has to let go of her wrist, but he manages it, even if his thumb strokes across the soft expanse of skin as he releases her. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes flutter at his touch. “She stays with me at least one night a week. I figured she’d forgotten something.”  
  
“Oh,” Amelia replies. The word might not say much but the relieved smile she fights back and the way her body angles itself toward his most definitely do.  
  
So does the way her cheeks flush as her gaze slips down, taking in his bare torso. Will wouldn’t be surprised if she could see his heart pounding in his chest right now, it’s so overwhelming, so fierce he can actually hear it.  
  
“It’s hectic,” he says. “Mornings when she stays, I mean. We’re always in a rush and it seems like everything takes three times as long.”  
  
“Well, she’s six, right?” Amelia asks. He’s beyond pleased that she remembers that. “I think that makes sense.”  
  
“Yeah…” Will agrees. There’s a long moment after that where neither of them says anything at all. They just _look_ at each other and while Will doesn’t know exactly what’s going on yet, he wants to live in this moment, hold onto it with both hands and never let it go. But the moment breaks eventually and when it does, it’s in a better way than he could have possibly expected.  
  
“So,” Amelia says softly, pausing to lick her lips, “are you going to invite me in?”  
  
“Yes, that’s… Yeah, come in,” he says immediately, pulling the door open wider and feeling a little idiotic for not saying that first thing. He’s usually so _smooth_. Why is it he can’t seem to find a coherent sentence when it matters most? “Just watch your feet. Bethy left her toys all over.”  
  
“Thanks,” she says as she steps inside. She touches his bare arm as she passes and her fingers _linger_. Will damned near chokes on his tongue as he tries to process this, shocks of electricity zinging up the length of his arm feel like they’re about to short circuit his brain. Or maybe they already have. He can’t seem to grasp hold of a coherent thought.    
  
He watches her as she looks around his condo. He likes his home, even if it looks a bit lived-in at the moment, and it seems like Amelia does, too. It’s probably less of a bachelor pad than she’d expected, but that’s what happens when you have one sister who’s an accomplished artist and another who’s a first-grader with enough toys to open her own Toys R Us.  
  
“Cute place,” she says after a moment, smiling back at him.  
  
_You belong here_ races through his head but he has enough presence not to say it. “I’m glad you like it,” he replies instead. “I should… I should go, uh, put on a shirt, I guess.”  
  
“No,” she says abruptly, taking a half step toward him before stopping herself and hooking her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans like she needs something to occupy her hands. His eyes go wide and he stops breathing for a moment as he waits for her to continue. “I mean… it’s your house. I’m the one intruding. Don’t feel like you need to change on my account.”  
  
His exhale is slow and unsteady. He’s really not sure what to do with that, but he’s also pretty sure she’s gearing up to say something else, that she’s _pushing_ herself to say more.  
  
So he waits.  
  
He’s always been willing to wait for her.  
  
“Besides,” she says finally, biting her lip and giving a little shrug as her cheeks flush beautifully, “you’re nice to look at like this, all casual and at home and… and looking like you just woke up.”  
  
Will’s pretty sure you could knock him over with a feather at that.  
  
If it were anyone else - if it were any other moment - he’d have a half dozen lines on the tip of his tongue, suggestive things about waking up or looking at her in turn. But this isn’t another moment and it’s not another woman and all Will can do is hope he’s not about to get his heart shattered into a million pieces somehow. Because he did not see this coming - he does not understand it - and he’s not used to getting exactly what he wants.  
  
“I… I haven’t had coffee yet,” he tells her after a beat. There’s a touch of confusion on her lovely features but he just keeps going because he needs something to focus on and he’s too terrified for that thing to be Amelia’s presence right now. “Would you like some? I know you prefer your coffee black, but the beans I got are a really dark roast and you might want to add a little-”  
  
“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here, Will?” she interrupts. She takes another step closer to him, just close enough that he catches a whiff of her perfume and it makes his head spin.  
  
“Not sure I’m ready to question that,” he admits in a near mumble as he glances down to where his hand rests on the arm of his sofa.  
  
It’s the quiet that follows that makes him glance back up at her and - when he does - there’s a surprised kind of understanding in her eyes, a soft consideration of him that he’s wanted from her for _years_. She has known for a very long time that he likes her, that he wants her. But he’s never thought she understood how much.  
  
Not until now.  
  
“I left him,” she says.  
  
It’s soft, but it thunders in the room and rings in his ears anyhow. His fingernails dig into the arm of the sofa as he nods at her, watching as a tiny, nervous smile tugs at the corners of her lips.  
  
“You… you left him?” he asks, licking his suddenly parched lips. He needs to hear her say it again.  
  
“Yes,” she agrees. “I did.”  
  
“And was that…” he swallows hard and shakes his head before dragging his fingers through his messy morning hair. “Amelia are you here because you left him or did you leave him because you wanted to be here?”  
  
“Part of me has always been here, Will,” she replies. “That’s why I left him. And you were right at brunch. I’m terrified, but some risks are worth it. I think this might be one of them. I’ve spent years telling myself that protecting my heart was more important than risking it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I can’t.”  
  
Her voice is thick and raw and he wants nothing more than to fix that, to make her laugh and smile and hear nothing but joy from her lips. But there is so much on the line right now and he just needs to make sure they’re headed in the same direction first.  
  
He doesn’t need to speak his hesitance aloud, though, because she clearly picks up on it by herself.  
  
“I made myself wait a week before I came back,” she adds with a wet little laugh. “I broke things off as soon as I got home and I wanted to turn my car back around and run back to Starling right away, but I didn’t because I knew I had to be able to tell you that I’d thought about it, that I knew what I wanted and I was sure. And I am, Will. God, I am. This is big and scary and I’m more than a little terrified, but I didn’t need the week. Nothing changed except how badly I needed to see you.”  
  
“Amelia…” he ventures, but any words that would have followed get stuck in his throat.  
  
“Before you say it, this isn’t a rebound,” she promises. “I’ve rehearsed this conversation a hundred times this week and I still don’t know how to convince you of that other than to ask you to believe me. I want this. I want _us_. I have ever since I first saw you at that campground, even if wanting you scared the hell out of me. But I’m more scared of missing out on something amazing than I am of where this could lead... Is that crazy? I don’t know how this works. Does it even work?” She laughs and it’s a bit manic. “After all you’ve said, if you didn’t really mean it, if this is really just me taking things too far, then please tell me now because I don’t know how I could stand it if-”  
  
It’s the absurd doubt about the sincerity of his feelings that pulls the moment so taut it snaps. If nothing else, Will cannot let that be in question.  
  
Later, he won’t remember moving toward her. He won’t recall his arm reaching out to wrap around her waist or having any intent of turning her and backing her up against the wall.  
  
What he _will_ remember is the stuttered puff of air she sucks in as they stumble against that wall just before he claims her lips with his for the first time. He’ll remember the way his knees actually go weak and his body sags at the feel of her pressed up against him, her breasts crushing against his chest and her arms wrapping around his neck. He’ll remember the way it all feels like fireworks trapped in a glass bottle, explosive and barely contained, like he might shatter from the force of it all at any moment. And he’ll remember the glazed look in her eyes when he pulls back a moment later, staring down at her lips before meeting her eyes again.  
  
“I have meant every word I’ve ever said to you,” he promises. His voice comes out grittier than he’d expected, but it somehow just serves to emphasis his words. “If we’re, uh… If we’re being really honest, I’ve meant a whole lot more than I’ve ever said to you, too.”  
  
It is far, _far_ too early to tell her he loves her. But he’s saying it without speaking the words anyhow.  
  
His heart pounds so furiously as he waits for some kind of response that it feels like it might leap right out of his chest. His hand trembles a little against the curve of her waist, that tiny bit of skin brushing teasingly against his fingertips, and he knows his breathing is too shallow, too fast but he can’t help it.  
  
What if that’s too much? What if she’s not ready? What if he scared her off? What if he ruined everything? What if-  
  
Suddenly, the soft, gentle warmth of her palm rests against his cheek and he feels like he can breathe again. His eyes slam shut and he finds himself leaning into her hand as her fingers stroke against his too-long early morning stubble. Will’s past is riddled with women, but none have ever made him feel weak, feel vulnerable, feel strangely at peace. Not like this. He is putty in her hands.  
  
And he absolutely loves it.  
  
He doesn’t open his eyes again until her thumb ghosts across his lower lip. A little whimper that might’ve been embarrassing were he less confident slips past his lips as he opens his eyes just in time to see her eyes flare and her pupils dilate to nearly eclipse the blue of her eyes.  
  
In some ways, it feels like maybe she’s seeing him for the first time. At the very least, he’s fairly certain this is the first moment where she understands she already owns the whole of his heart.  
  
There’s a confidence about her that just feels _right_ after that. She cups his face with her hands and leans in, brushing her nose against his teasingly, pulling back only slightly as he tries to nuzzle her back. That’s short-lived though, because it’s just another moment before she presses her lips to his in a wildfire kiss that fast burns out of control.  
  
Six years of pent of feelings and repressed emotion swamp them both and it leaves his head spinning. She tugs insistently at his hair as she nips at his lower lip and she lets out a full-on groan when her tongue slides into his mouth, tasting him for the first time. She’s absolutely devouring him and he can think of nothing better in the entire world. Her fingers dig into his shoulder and twine in his hair as she hitches a leg around his and tugs him forward so he’s pressing her firmly against the wall, their hips pinned together in a way that makes him see stars.  
  
It’s instinct, more than anything else, that prompts him to bend down slightly and lift her, wrapping both of her legs around his waist as he supports her by the backs of her thighs. She lets out a sharp noise of surprise, ending the kiss for a moment to just look at him.  
  
It’s a heart-stopping moment.  
  
Amelia’s a tall woman, nearly the same height as him, and from this position she’s left looking down at him. There’s something strangely appropriate about that. He’s holding her up, supporting her entirely as he steps slightly away from the wall. And she trusts him completely. But there’s also no doubt whatsoever with either of them that she’s the one leading the way here.  
  
“Sofa,” she directs him with a dangerously mischievous smile that he strongly suspects he’s going to learn to _love_ the sight of.  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees with a touch of a smirk.  
  
She leans down and kisses him as they make their way across the rest of the room. All things considered, they’re very lucky he doesn’t step on a Lego along the way.  
  
Amelia makes no move to untwine herself from him so he winds up sitting instead with her perched on his lap and that’s… that’s the best idea he’s ever had, frankly.  
  
And the worst.  
  
Simultaneously.  
  
He’s only wearing his pajama bottoms, after all, and it’s _July_. It’s not like they’re flannel. They’re made of very thin fabric and even if he _hadn’t_ been painfully hard before Amelia was literally straddling him, he definitely would be now. The pressure of her bearing down on him is enough to make him choke on air.  
  
“Oh, _God_ , Amelia,” he gasps out, letting his head thud back against the sofa. He still can’t quite believe this is happening, but his hands are on her waist and every brush of her skin against his is like a shock of lightning to his senses. This is very real and he’s completely surrounded by her.  
  
She doesn’t reply in words - though there’s really no doubt that she knows precisely what she’s doing to him - but he can feel her smiles against his skin as she kisses the curve of his jaw and strokes her hands down his bare chest.  
  
He’s so fucking grateful for that spilled juice earlier, it’s sort of astounding.  
  
She doesn’t know his body yet, not really, and when she inadvertently hits a very sensitive spot right near his belly button he’s left absolutely panting wildly and grabbing her wrist to still her hand. If she keeps going that way, things are going to move a lot faster than he thinks they’re ready for, because just the touch of her fingers against his stomach makes him want to grind against her on the sofa like he’s a teenager again.  
  
“Damn… what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, pulling her hand up to kiss the inside of her wrist. Her breathing speeds up the instant his lips press to that sensitive skin and he can feel her pulse racing.  
  
It’s just like his.  
  
She’s in this just like he is. That little sliver of proof sends his heart utterly soaring.  
  
“What I should’ve done years ago,” she replies as he releases her wrist and her hands trail across the slope of his broad shoulders. “We have a lot of time to make up for, Will.”  
  
They do. That’s true, but they don’t have to do that all at once. He actually opens his mouth to tell her that when she leans down and presses her lips to his neck again. The words in his throat die at that. He’s only just so strong and the feel of Amelia trailing her lips down his neck, sends every conscious thought straight out of his head. He sighs instead, cupping the back of her head gently with one hand in a silent urging for her to continue.  
  
He whimpers, a needy noise in the back of his throat, when she hits a tremendously sensitive spot near his collar. She’s clearly paying attention because an instant later she’s laving that spot with her tongue as he shivers uncontrollably beneath her.  
  
“Amelia,” he moans. “Honey…”  
  
The endearment just slips out, he doesn’t even think about it, but she doesn’t seem to mind because he can feel her smile against his shoulder for the span of a heartbeat before, very suddenly, she’s sucking hard against his skin.  
  
“Oh, God,” he breathes out. His hips jump of their own accord and the hand that had been on her waist drifts down to her ass, pulling her harder against him. She doesn’t stop sucking at what will undoubtedly become a very impressive hickey, but she does groan when he tugs her harder against him. He can feel the heat of her through her jeans. She rocks against him slightly - just once - the seam of her jeans pressed right against the hard line of his thinly-covered cock, and he finds his hand is kneading her ass entirely of its own volition. It’s not enough. He wants to touch every inch of her, discover everything about her body over and over until they’re both so sated they can barely move.  
  
But he also knows that’s not the best idea. At least he does when he _thinks_ about it, but that’s something that takes a moment because he can’t think at all while Amelia marks him as hers and then licks a path down his pec.  
  
Suddenly, though, she stops, laughing and looking at him with unbridled joy. “Why do you taste like oranges?” she asks.  
  
The morning comes rushing back to him in full, bringing with it a bit of reality, a little clarity and a touch of resolve.  
  
“Come here?” he requests, tugging her upward. She follows easily and readily returns the sentiment when he press a soft, blindingly affectionate kiss to her lips. “I’m so damned glad you’re here,” he tells her when they part and he rests his forehead against hers.  
  
“Me too,” she agrees. Her smile steals the breath right out of his lungs. “But that doesn’t explain the oranges.”  
  
He grins, easing himself back against the arm of the sofa and pulling her with him, unwilling to release her from his arms even for a moment. “Bethy spilled juice,” he tells her.  
  
“ _Ah_ ,” Amelia grins, trailing her fingers along his collarbone before pausing to circle around the spot she’d been sucking on earlier. “Well that explains things, doesn’t it? It’ll be nice to see her again. It’s been ages and she’s such a sweet little girl. She’s got to be getting so big now.”  
  
He loves her. He _loves_ her. _He loves her_. It’s all he can think for a very long moment.  
  
He wants to keep this. He needs to do this right.  
  
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asks. She looks surprised by the question.  
  
“Are you asking me on a date?” she grins. “That’s a bit of a given after I showed up on your doorstep and jumped you, isn’t it?”  
  
“I intend on asking you on a lot of dates,” he promises. “And it’s not a given. I’m never going to take for granted that you’ll say yes.”  
  
“It’s been awhile since someone asked me on a real date,” she confesses.  
  
“Well…” He hesitates, but the words are on the tip of his tongue and he can’t not say it. “That’s your ex-boyfriend’s fault then because you deserve to be asked out all the time. I don’t intend to make the same mistake.”  
  
She doesn’t really respond to his comment about Thad - that’s probably for the best, he decides - but she does nod and brush his hair away from his brow. “I’d love to go out with you on a date, Will. Where should we go?”  
  
“I haven’t exactly had time to put thought into that yet,” he points out. “But the where doesn’t matter so much, really.”  
  
“No,” she agrees. “It really doesn’t.”  
  
“I just… I don’t want us to rush things. I want to do this right,” he confesses. He’s a little surprised by her laugh.  
  
“Six years is hardly rushing anything, Will,” she points out. Her tone is light, teasing, and her fingers trip across the expanse of his chest in a way that’s both playful and suggestive.  
  
He gets where she’s coming from. Amelia is the sort of person who makes a choice and immediately wants to fast forward to the end result. It’s why she thinks waiting a week to come to him was a long time. It’s why she stuck to saying no to him for so long. It’s a part of who she is. And he loves that about her - he does - but there’s also more to it than what she’s seeing right now.  
  
“You’re right,” he agrees. “But you got out of a long-term relationship a week ago. Things got… understandably heated pretty fast with us and it took more strength than I thought I had to keep from asking if I could make love to you right here. I still want to, but I won’t because that would be a mistake right now. We don’t have to rush anything. We can take our time and explore who we are as a couple first. I want that for us.”  
  
“As a couple…” she echoes. Her voice sounds like a caress. “Does that mean I get to call you my boyfriend?”  
  
“Absolutely,” he replies immediately. “All you ever had to do to make me yours was say yes, Amelia. I’ve been crazy about you for years. No one else has ever come close.”  
  
She kisses him softly at that, slow and firm but with restraint she wasn’t showing earlier.  
  
“Okay Will,” she agrees, stroking the side of his face. “We’ll do it your way. For now.”  
  
“Thank you,” he murmurs.  
  
“I have one condition,” she adds, raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Go ahead,” he replies warily.  
  
“If we’re not going to make love, I’m really gonna need you to go put on a shirt.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief immediate follow-up to yesterday's AU of Ameliam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Anon - That Ameliam fic yesterday though!!!!!! It was everything! If life was perfect and the story continued, what do you think would have happened for the rest of the day after Will put on a shirt? Would they cancel work and spend the whole day together? Would they go out, and do something fun, maybe go to an amusement park? That's long overdue. Would they go public with their relationship quickly? I want to know everything!

In this world... in this world Will doesn’t have to be to work until 6 the next morning. She’s already taken off work because she was coming to Starling. She took off a full week. Will  _does_  go to work the next day but only because he can’t find someone to swap shifts with so fast. He manages it for the other days he’s working - calls in more than a few favors - but he doesn’t even question if that’s worth it. It is. 

The rest of that first morning is so easy. She makes them both coffee while he goes to find real clothes. She’s rummaging around his cabinets for mugs by the time he gets back and it’s sort of amazing how overwhelmed he is just at the sight of her making herself at home in his kitchen. There’s an ‘ _Ah ha!’ from_ her as she finds his mugs and she’s adorably proud of herself as she pours him some coffee - getting his preference right exactly (splash of milk, no sugar, dash of cinnamon... she pays attention too) - a smiling widely as she turns to hand it to him. It’ll wind up being the best damned coffee he’s ever had but her presence way surpasses it. He takes the mug, sets it down and cups her face with his hands before kissing her long and slow. It sets a wild thrill through him that he can do this now, that she  _wants_  him to... that this is who they are. She groans and grips the collar of his shirt as she kisses him back and he absolutely cannot believe that this is his life. That he’s  _this_  lucky. They wind up parting on a happy little hum from her and they just stand there a moment, smiling and nose-to-nose as they soak in each other’s presence. 

They drink their coffee together at the little kitchen table, sitting side-by-side, close enough their thighs brush against each other and he can - and does - turn to kiss her shoulder between sips whenever the mood strikes him (Often. It strikes him often). When the coffee’s gone it becomes pretty clear they’ll wind up making out on the sofa all day if they let themselves and while that seems like a pretty fantastic idea to both of them, they also  _do_  want to spend time getting to know each other better and figuring out who they are together. For that, they both realize, they kinda have to get out of the condo. 

Lunch in the park feels like a pretty perfect idea - it’s intimate but still public; it’s not noisy and it gives them a great opportunity to talk. They’re early enough getting there to catch the tail end of the farmer’s market. It’s funny, really, how easy and domestic this all seems, but Amelia laughing as she steals blueberries from the container he bought might be one of the most entrancing things he’s ever seen. They spend hours on a blanket shaded by trees from the bright July sunshine, snacking on fresh bread with cheese, perfectly ripe berries and peaches, surprisingly crisp sugar snap peas and a bottle of local wine they swig directly from the bottle. (”You know that’s illegal, right? Drinking in the park?” she asks him. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he replies with a wink. That’s when he learns how very easily she’ll melt if he winks at her. Too bad he hadn’t known that years ago). 

Topics range from shared memories to college dating disasters, from losing a parent to playing wingman for friends. He’s halfway into a story about the time Beth decided she was secretly a mermaid and flooded his bathroom when she kisses him and doesn’t stop. The wine long gone and leftover food forgotten, they lie on that blanket in the grass just kissing, entwined together in a way that’s both intimate and innocent all at once for forever. 

Or at least it feels blissfully like forever at the time. 

They’ll count it as a minor miracle later that the paparazzi didn’t bust them that afternoon, but they don’t. No, that takes about three weeks, surprisingly, which is  _good_  because they’ll have a bit of a routine by then, be slightly further down the path together. Today is just about them. 

They don’t get up until the sun shifts in the afternoon and they lose the shade of their tree. He helps Amelia up and he doesn’t let go of her hand, staring at her as his thumb smooths back and forth across her skin. A couple old enough to be his grandparents walking nearby smile knowingly at him but he barely notices them. Amelia has the whole of his attention. 

A leisurely afternoon of window shopping - complete with making up absurd stories about the people browsing the high end boutiques and over-wrought salespeople assisting them - soon follows. They joke and laugh and bond and even if they really aren’t doing much of anything, Will’s hard pressed to remember the last time he enjoyed himself so much. So, when she says she should get going he’s hugely, vastly disappointed. 

“To get ready,” she grins, buoying him immeasurably. “I have a hot dinner date in a bit, after all.”

The kiss he gives her after that is a little on the indecent side for public, but he honestly doesn’t give a damn. 

He drops her off at her friend Celeste’s place. The curtains flutter and he’s pretty sure they’re being watched. When he kisses her with no hint of reservation, hungry and wanting and free, the pair of very loud squeaks from inside confirm that thought pretty definitively. Amelia’s beautifully dazed when they part, her lips swollen and cheeks pink as her eyes shine with a dazed but lusty look. 

Leaving her to get ready for their date, even though he’ll be back in two hours to pick her up again, takes more willpower than he’d thought he had. But he does. 

He can’t stop smiling the whole way home. 

Name-dropping isn’t something Will does. Ever. But he makes an exception tonight, calling Felicity’s favorite restaurant for reservations that probably were booked a month ago. He doesn’t need to do that. He knows it. Amelia isn’t expecting anything that swanky and he has the distinct impression that she doesn’t care at all where they go. But he wants to do this for her, wants their night to be memorable.

And it is. 

Celeste and Maggie are both hanging around when he comes back to pick up Amelia. Celeste openly whistles at his well-tailored three-piece suit. “Damned if you don’t clean up, Will Queen,” Maggie notes approvingly. Amelia strides into the room a moment later, stopping dead in her tracks, still fastening an earring as she soaks him in. 

Her cheeks turn pinker and she  _licks her lips_  as she watches him and Will finds he has to stuff his hands in his pockets and swallow back the words he wants to say before he does something stupid like tell her he’s been in love with her for forever.  

“I’m... I’m... I’m under-dressed,” she finally manages, rubbing at her neck like she’s remembering the feel of his mouth on her skin. It would make sense. He knows he sure is. 

“You’re perfect,” he promises her. The dress she’s wearing is probably one she’s worn a dozen times for work, but it’s beautiful on her and the jewelry dresses it up. So do the shoes, even if they do make her taller than him. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t mind that idea in the least. He sort of loves that they’re eye-level with each other. It makes everything feel more intimate somehow. 

“Do lots of things I wouldn’t do, if you can come up with any!” Celeste says cheerily, waving from the doorway as they head out. 

Amelia laughs but otherwise ignores her friend, instead tugging on the edge of Will’s collar until he stops and looks at her. She’s kissing him against, pressing a smile against his lips. Her friends are right there, but he doesn’t have the sense that’s why she did it. It’s just... this is new and it’s only been a couple of hours apart but the affirmation that this is still  _real_ , that it’s still happening, is something both of them need. 

Somehow, they make it to the restaurant on time for their reservation. She protests a bit when she realizes where they’re going and he offers to change plans if she’d be more comfortable - his dad’s favorite burger joint is just around the corner - but she caves and they wind up at Felicity’s favorite place instead. 

They touch each other some way or another all through dinner. Her hand on his arm, their knees touching, her fingers twined with his. They can’t seem to stop. They stay a long time, ordering dessert after dinner and drinks after that. They talk about  _everything_. They debate baseball at length, which turns heated at times, and briefly talk politics, which does not. He finds out she did the zombie run a few years ago - the one year he’d missed it - and that her friendship with Celeste and Maggie means a whole lot more to her than he’d assumed. They don’t quite shut the restaurant down, but it’s not far off. She takes a selfie of the two of them before they go and it’ll be one of Will’s favorite pictures for the rest of his life. He’s staring at her like she’s his whole world while she smiles into the camera, both of them illuminated mostly by candlelight. 

She sends it to her mom with a note that reads “You were right. My ❤️ did know the right path. Thank you for telling me to listen to it.” Her phone buzzes repeatedly after that but after the first response which was entirely exclamation points, she stops checking it. She does, however, send the picture to him, too. It immediately becomes his contact for her as well as his lock screen. He’ll stare at it like a total dope the entire next day at work - which thank God is a slow one because he’ll get virtually no sleep - and his team will mock the ever-living hell out of him for it. (He won’t care. Nothing will be able to bring him down. He’ll be on cloud nine by then). 

Dropping her off that night is hard, doubly so since she suggests she could just stay with him. But as tempting as that idea really, really is, they wind up agreeing it’s not the right one for them. Not right now, anyhow. 

But she’ll be at his apartment when he gets off work at 6 am the morning after next, they decide before he kisses her one last time that evening with a spare key to his place in her hand that he never will wind up getting back from her. He heads home alone to a condo that’s still sticky everywhere a six-year-old can reach with Legos still scattered sporadically. It could still be this morning. It could have been just like twelve hours ago before everything in his life changed for the better. But he knows it’s not. Her lipstick stains one of the mugs in his sink and their picture is on his phone and he’s got a hickey on his shoulder that doesn’t look like it’s fading anytime soon. And he’s  _giddy_ , God but he’s giddy. It feels like the joy is just bubbling right out of him. 

None of that fades over the next day and a half. None of it. And when he gets home from work the morning after next to find Amelia sitting on his counter with coffee brewing next to her and a tablet in her hand as she works remotely on something or other for her office, it looks like rest of his life staring right back at him.

And it’s perfect.


	16. June 2045

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Ellie's wedding dress gives the Queen women some heartfelt moments together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm not *entirely* back yet - my house is most definitely not settled and we're still STILL unpacking - but I'm trying to get back to writing with some flashfics. I'll be filling a few prompts in the near future (see my tumblr or twitter for details that I cannot, per site rules, explain fully here) as a huge thank you to some of my wonderful supporters. You guys - all of you - are simply the best readers I could ask for and I'm beyond grateful for your continued interest in my little world. Now... enjoy.
> 
> Prompt - I'm dying for something like a girls night/day (out) with F and older J and E, maybe Lyla and Sara could be joining too. I'm not sure this is a prompt material, either way I would love to read this somewhere in the future of FiCoN-verse.
> 
>  **EDIT - IMPORTANT NOTE:** Portions of this are no longer 'canon.' I considered cutting them, but in the end I like them too much. I'm leaving this as AU instead - entirely due to references to Will and Amelia and - to some extent - Beth. The timeline is changing and this no longer fits as written. If you crop out references to Will, you can consider the rest of it canon (but after much debate, I'm leaving them in as they were originally written).

It’s not that Ellie’s nervous about getting married. She’s not. Felicity is absolutely positive that her younger daughter has no cold feet whatsoever, not even a chilly toenail. But the closer they get to her pending wedding day, the more anxious Ellie becomes. She wants everything to be _perfect_ and that means a whole lot of fine tuning as they go.

 

First, she changed her mind about the flowers. Then, it was the cake. Today? Today it’s her dress. But, Felicity doesn’t mind in the least. There’s nothing she can think of that she’d rather be doing than shopping with Ellie, Jules and Sylvia for Ellie’s wedding dress. It’s such a special experience and she’s glad to have a chance to do it all again.

 

Even if it is a bit harder now that Sylvia is increasingly mobile.

 

“No, no,” Jules chastises lightly, prying some delicate lace from her daughter’s slobber-stained fingers and scooping her up. “We don’t chew on veils, sweetie.”

 

She hands the ten-month-old a semi-frozen teething ring from her diaper bag as she sets the little girl down on her lap. Sylvia takes it immediately and starts gnawing away as she pillows her head against her mother’s chest, the absolute picture of security and contentment.

 

There’s no denying that Sylvia’s growing up quickly - it seems like just yesterday she was born - but in spite of her curiosity about the world around her, she’s usually happiest cuddling up to her family. It might be a phase, of course, but Felicity hopes not. The gentle sweetness and open affection about her granddaughter feels like a defining characteristic and a tremendously endearing one at that.

 

“That’s gotta feel better and I _know_ it tastes better, right?” Jules asks, smoothing her hand across the girl’s thick, dark hair.

 

Sylvia just smiles around the teething ring as she stares up at her mother with huge, expressive eyes. For what feels like the millionth time, a wave of gratefulness washes over Felicity that _this_ is her granddaughter, that _this_ is her baby’s baby. Becoming a mother is never easy, but Sylvia being healthy and loving and a good sleeper right from the start had made it as easy as it could be for Jules. And she needed that. After everything she’s been through, all the battles she’s fought, she deserved it.

 

“She looks tired,” Felicity observes as Sylvia blinks slowly.

 

“Cutting teeth does a number on her,” Jules admits, holding the girl a little closer.

 

“It probably does a number on you, too,” Felicity points out. “She’s got to be up more when her gums hurt.”

 

“She is,” Jules agrees with a rueful nod. “But she gets back to sleep pretty quickly if we rock her and give her a fresh teething ring.”

 

Felicity doesn’t even have to ask to know Sylvia’s papa is up with her at least as often as Jules is. This little girl has everyone wrapped around her little finger, but most of all her father. And Felicity’s sure that the idea of his daughter in pain is more than enough to have her son-in-law up half the night with Sylvia, whether she needs him to be or not.

 

But then, that’s what parents do. They’re there for their kids no matter what. Every day. Whether that’s through painful teething at two a.m. or shopping for a wedding dress for the third time.

 

“Ellie, do you need a hand lacing that dress up, honey?” Felicity calls out over the changing room stall.

 

“Not unless I wanna stop breathing entirely,” Ellie replies in a strained voice.

 

“Do you need another size?” Felicity asks, looking around and trying to remember what racks they’d perused.

 

“Not of the dress,” Ellie responds, her voice muted by the rustling of tulle and satin before the creamy white pile of fabric gets tossed over the top of the curtain. “Maybe of my boobs.”

 

“You’ll get it tailored,” Felicity points out.

 

“It’s not meant for my body type,” Ellie sighs before poking her head out of the curtain. “Might’ve worked for Jules.”

 

“If you’re making fun of me for tiny boobs, you should’ve gotten all those jokes out pre-baby,” Jules replies, raising an eyebrow at her sister.

 

“You _are_ awfully cleavagey these days,” Ellie agrees with a pensive nod. “Congratulations to my brother-in-law.”

 

Jules scoffs at that. “Yeah, it’s awesome when you’re squirting milk everywhere. Super sexy.”

 

Ellie looks both stunned and wary, like maybe she thinks Jules is pranking her, and it’s everything Felicity can do not to bust out laughing hysterically at the sight of her younger daughter’s shocked face. “That _happens_?”

 

“Hell yes, that happens!” Jules laughs.

 

“It does,” Felicity confirms when Ellie looks to her for agreement. The girl’s nose wrinkles up in distaste and she gives a little shudder, her blonde curls bouncing at the motion.

 

Jules can’t help chuckling more at her sister’s expense. “Pregnancy leads to so _many_ fantastically disgusting things. The stories I could tell…”

 

“Would further talk me into adopting one day,” Ellie notes.

 

“Babies are gross too,” Jules points out. As if on cue, Sylvia pats her mother’s cheek with a slobber-drenched hand. “Cute,” Jules admits, kissing Sylvia’s forehead with a loud smack that makes the baby giggle, “but super gross.”

 

“Why don’t you give me my adorably cute and not-at-all-gross grandbaby and go grab us some champagne from the salesgirl trying not to hyperventilate as she stalks us from the corner,” Felicity suggests, reaching out for the infant. Sylvia’s eyes light up when she realizes her grandmother wants to hold her and she immediately extends her arms and leans toward her eagerly. “There’s my girl,” Felicity smiles as Jules hands the baby over. “It’s been far too long since I’ve held you.”

 

“Mom, it’s been like twenty minutes,” Jules points out, rolling her eyes.

 

“That’s what I said,” Felicity replies primly as Sylvia babbles noises at her in excitement. Jules just shakes her head at them, but it’s plain to see the affection etched into her features.

 

“I’ll grab us champagne,” Jules agrees, “right after I wash off my cheek and get whatever this gunk is off my shirt.”

 

 _Gross_ , Ellie mouths at her sister, looking painfully serious.

 

 _Super gross_ , Jules mouths back over her shoulder, equally grave as she walks off.

 

It’s an incredibly cute moment, from Felicity’s perspective. Years ago, she wouldn’t have expected the level of camaraderie and friendship her girls have now to ever develop. But, maturity and shared experiences have drawn them closer as time has gone on. Part of that is their joint mission to protect the city, but Felicity thinks they would have forged just as strong a relationship had that not happened. They have both been there for each other through the very worst moments of their lives and that, more than anything else, has drawn them together.  

 

“You’ve got another in there to try on, right?” Felicity asks, drawing Ellie’s attention back to her.

 

“Yup,” Ellie confirms. “Gimmie just a minute.” With that, she ducks back behind the curtain.

 

Sylvia stands up on Felicity’s lap, angling her little neck to look past her grandmother in search of Jules. “Mama?” she asks, looking slightly worried.

 

“Mama will be back in just a minute, Sylvie,” Felicity tells her, intentionally keeping her voice soft and stroking the girl’s cheek to regain her attention. It works. “It is less than two months until your birthday! Did you know that? You’re almost one-year-old. Your papa is already talking about the party he’s going to throw you. It’s going to be lots of fun and you’ll be very happy. And you _should_ be, because you deserve all the joy in this entire world, sweetheart.”

 

Sylvia doesn’t understand much of what’s being said to her, of course. But the tone and the attention, as well as the mention of her parents, has her fascinated and happy.

 

“Were you this sappy when I was a baby?”

 

Felicity looks up from Sylvia to find Ellie in a pretty but plain wedding dress. The fit is a little big, but workable, and she looks lovely. But, Felicity knows there’s no way this will be the dress she picks out. Ellie wants her wedding to look like something out of a fairytale, to feel like a princess, and this dress… well, it isn’t that.

 

“Your father was a bigger sap,” Felicity replies.

 

“Well, I mean, I knew _that_ ,” Ellie snorts, flopping carelessly into the seat next to her mother. Sylvia momentarily looks torn between her grandmother and her aunt, but her interest in the dress seems to win out and she reaches for Ellie as she makes an insistent noise. “Hey squirt,” she greets, pulling the baby onto her lap. “No grossness, okay? This dress is strictly catch-and-release.”

 

“You’re overthinking the dress,” Felicity confides in her.

 

“I know,” Ellie sighs heavily, pulling her legs up beneath her as she leans back in the chair. “The first two I bought were great. _Why_ am I obsessing over this? Why do I need this to be absolutely perfect?”

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Felicity laughs, shaking her head a little. “Honey, you’re marrying the love of your life. It’s already perfect. The rest is just window dressing.”

 

“I know,” Ellie agrees. “It is. I know. I just… I have this picture in my head of how it’s supposed to be.”

 

“Most of us do,” Felicity tells her, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “But I’m gonna tell you a secret, one my mother told me before my wedding…”

 

“Way to build suspense, Mom,” Ellie laughs nervously as she rubs Sylvia’s back.

 

“It’s never going to be the picture in your head, Ellie. You can plan your wedding or even your whole life out down to the smallest detail if you want, but it’s never going to be that,” Felicity confides. “It’ll be better. And, at times, it’ll be worse. It’ll surprise you and scare you. Don’t spend so much time trying to control your life than you forget to _enjoy_ your life.”

 

Whatever Ellie had expected, it’s clear that this wasn’t it. She looks so very young in this moment, sitting in a plush oversized chair in a poofy, slightly-too-big wedding dress with her niece on her lap as she soaks in her mother’s words.

 

“That’s kinda shockingly good advice, actually,” Jules’ voice comes from behind the two of them as she sets a few glasses of champagne down on the table between them.

 

“She didn’t tell you before your wedding?” Ellie asks, passing the wiggling baby back to Jules.

 

“She didn’t need to,” Jules points out. “You’ve always seen yourself on a specific path for your life, Ellie. I didn’t. And, that’s probably a good thing because life has thrown me more than a few curveballs…. Including this cute little curveball.” She grins down at Sylvia and tickles the girl’s belly lightly, much to her great delight. “Best, gross little curveball ever!”

 

“Speaking of baseball…” Ellie says, clearing her throat and looking between her mother and sister conspiratorially as she picks up a glass of champagne and takes a sip. “Can we talk for a minute about Will?”

 

“That is the weakest segue ever, but yes, yes we can,” Jules nods insistently.

 

Ellie’s shoulders droop a little at that. “I assume that means you don’t know anything either.”

 

“He hasn’t said a _word_ to me and then out of the blue he’s grinning like a loon and announcing he wants to bring his _girlfriend_ to your wedding? I might just kill him,” Jules announces. “I don’t even know how long he’s been going out with this girl.”

 

“Just over three months,” Felicity informs her girls, sitting back with a sly grin and raising one eyebrow at them as she sips her wine.

 

Both of them look stunned, which is something of a victory until she realizes their reasons are entirely different.

 

“You have intel? Spill, mom,” Ellie demands, scooting forward in her chair.

 

“...Three months?” Jules asks, looking a little hurt. “And he didn’t say anything even to me?”

 

“Jules…” Felicity starts, hesitating slightly because while what she’s about to say is very true, it also won’t be easy to hear. “Honey, you did the exact same thing.”

 

“That was different,” Jules says immediately, with more than a touch of defensiveness. ”That was…”

 

“Exactly the same,” Felicity finishes for her. “But I’m gonna go out on a limb and say I think your reasons were probably different. He’s telling us now. And, knowing your brother, that means something. He’s serious about this girl.”

 

“Do you know anything about her? Her name? What she does?” Ellie asks.

 

“No,” Felicity denies. “Beth wouldn’t say. But she did say she’s positive Will is absolutely in love with this girl and that it’s mutual. She’s also met his girlfriend and likes her a lot. And for Beth to say that…”

 

“Beth doesn’t like anyone he dates. She never has. Remember when he went out with her teacher? God that was a mess,” Ellie rolls her eyes.

 

“That was Will’s fault… mostly,” Felicity points out.

 

“He should’ve just told Beth in the first place,” Ellie agrees.

 

“Well, that’s in the past now,” Felicity says. “Whoever this girl is, you need to both give her a chance. Will deserves this. He deserves to have someone in his life who makes him smile like that.”

 

He’s been lonely. Felicity’s sure of it and it breaks her heart. That little boy who she watched shyly meet his father all those years ago is nearly thirty-seven now. His one-time playboy ways faded with his 20s and in the years since he’s alternated between looking for something real with a woman and devoting himself wholly to his work and his family. He has friends. He has family. And that means the world to him. But he’s watched two of his younger sisters fall in love and get engaged, watched Jules become a mother, and Felicity has clearly seen the longing on her son’s face for a life like that for himself.

 

The girls, however, seem to have missed that.

 

“Of course he does,” Ellie agrees pleasantly.

 

“He does,” Jules echoes quieter, a far-off look in her eyes. “He always would have, but with what he does, what they see every day… he deserves someone to come home to, to help him through the rough days.”

 

Jules is sharply astute and Felicity wonders for the first time if maybe her older daughter hadn’t picked up on more of what Will was going through than she’d realized.  

 

“Well, we’ll see her at dinner soon,” Ellie notes. “And the wedding… assuming I can find a _dress_.”

 

“When I got married I had designers from all over offer me dresses,” Jules ventures.

 

“I did, too,” Ellie admits. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t feel right about being a showpiece for a big fashion house, you know?”

 

“So what about a small one?” Felicity asks. It’s like a light bulb blinked on over her head. “What about a designer just starting out?”

 

“You sound like you have someone in mind…” Ellie says.

 

“Because I do,” Felicity agrees. “There’s a woman Roy told me about who the foundation helped a few years ago. She gives back now by creating interview outfits for us to give people who are job hunting.”

 

“There’s a big leap between suits and wedding dresses, Mom,” Jules says warily, shifting Sylvia to her hip.

 

“Yes, but she specializes in formalwear,” Felicity replies. “Very princess-style dresses. I think you’d like them and I’m sure she’d do something custom. The exposure would help her tremendously.”

 

“I love the idea,” Ellie decides. “I’m not entirely sold yet, but I’ll talk to her.”

 

“It’s worth a shot,” Felicity tells her daughter, taking one last sip of her drink before standing. “Now, why don’t you go change back into your own clothes so we can go have lunch before your niece decides it’s past her naptime.”

 

“Sure. Can we invite Beth to meet us?” Ellie asks brightly.

 

“You just want to mine for more info on Will’s girlfriend,” Jules says, shaking her head.

 

“Not _entirely_ ,” Ellie replies. “I also would just like to see Beth.”

 

Jules doesn’t believe it for a second and neither does Felicity. Oh, it’s true to a point. Ellie does like Beth. But that’s not her motivation here in the least.

 

“She’s rock climbing with friends upstate this weekend,” Felicity informs them.

 

“Guess you’ll just have to wait to find out about Will’s girl until he tells us,” Jules says pointedly.

 

“Or… we could invite _him_ to lunch,” Ellie suggests with an overly-bright, toothy grin.

 

“Go get changed, dork,” Jules laughs.

 

Ellie sticks out her tongue in response before disappearing back into the changing stall. Felicity just shakes her head affectionately at her girls before letting her gaze settle on Jules. She’s smiling easily after her sister and Felicity can’t help but think how beautiful Jules really is when she’s at peace, when she’s confident and happy.

 

That’s all she wants for her family, really. Peace and confidence and joy as they make a difference with their lives and find meaning in the world. For Will, she’s pretty sure that requires building a family of his own, at this point. For Ellie, she thinks it might just be a matter of time. Jules, she’s happy to say, is already there. For Nate… well, she doesn’t know yet for Nate. He seems so young still, sometimes. Like Ellie, he’s grown up sure of his path in life. But unlike her, he has outright avoided conflict or really anything that challenges his chosen path. That makes a difference. He has peace, something Ellie has long struggled with, but she’s not so sure about the confidence or joy. He’s young yet, though. He has time to find his way.

 

“Everything okay, Mom?” Jules asks, pulling Felicity back into the moment where she finds her older daughter watching her with concern.

 

“It is,” she smiles in reply, watching as Sylvia curls against her mother’s body and Jules strokes the baby’s hair. “Everything’s great,” she promises.

 

And she means it.


	17. Hogwarts... in some very different universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Ameliam Hogwarts AU? Like maybe a love potion blows up in class and everyone's affected and chasing after Will (I don't know how, it's *magic*) and he's trying to hide when suddenly someone grabs him and pulls him into a hidden passageway... (prompt truncated for spoilers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early birthday to Fai. My friend, you've made my life better for knowing you. I honestly don't remember if this was your prompt originally or if you just loved it. Either way, this one is both by request and for you.

It would be a flat-out lie to say that Will Queen had never screwed up royally in potions class. He’s floundered at the subject since day one, mostly because he hasn’t given it the attention it really needs. Oh, he can manage a Pepperup potion in a pinch or even a Skele-Gro, but it doesn’t have a quick, showy pay-off, so he’s often easily distracted. 

 

Like today. 

 

Will’s got no use for a love potion. Where’s the fun in that? He’ll take good, old-fashioned flirting over Amortentia any day. In fact, he’ll do that right now.

 

“Hey,” he grins, leaning over his workbench toward a fair-skinned blonde who blushes really easily. He loves that. It’s like a challenge, seeing how much he can make her turn pink. And, it serves as a really solid momentary distraction from thinking about anything more serious, anyone else who might fascinate him on a level much deeper than flushed cheeks and pretty smiles. 

 

“I’m working, Will,” the girl says. But there’s no beratement in her tone and she bites her lip as she brushes some hair behind her ear and glances back at him. Her partner hip-checks her and raises her eyebrows, speaking in some secret girl-code that he doesn’t really understand except to know for certain that his interest isn’t exactly unwanted. 

 

“Aw, come on,” he starts up, ignoring the beleaguered sigh from his own potion’s partner next to him. “Like you need pearl dust and rose thorns to put some guy under your spell? You’ve got that down all on your own, Chelsea.”

 

_ There’s _ that pink flush. She grins and shakes her head, looking back to her potion as her partner starts to carefully stir. “You’re cute, Will, but I know better than to think I’m the one who’s got you bewitched.”

 

He pulls back at that a little, blinking hard as his mind races. In the long line of girls he’s sweet talked or kissed or even gone out on a date with, no one’s ever implied that he had actual feelings for anyone. Everybody in Hogwarts knows not to take Will too seriously. He likes girls, but he doesn’t like  _ a _ girl… at least as far as anyone is supposed to be aware of. Admitting anything else hurts too much, because it’s not like Amelia’s ever given him more than the time of day anyhow. She’s too focused for that, too studious, too locked into honing in on her future. And Will… Will’s all about living in the present, even if it hasn’t been going exactly as he wants.

 

“You’ve got charms all your own, Chels,” he tells the blonde. He smiles, even if it feels forced, and he tenses up. 

 

“Sure I do,” she laughs shortly, looking back at him. But it’s less playful than before and her blush is suddenly a whole lot less fun. “Just not ones that work on you. Not really.” Flirting is great, but this is swiftly changing course and he doesn’t enjoy where it’s headed. She’s sweet and cute and if she’s taking this more seriously than he’d meant… well he doesn’t want to upset her. 

 

“I was just… Sorry,” he says, fully meaning it and still wondering a bit what happened. This is far from the first time he’s flirted with the pretty little blonde, but it’s definitely the first time she’s reacted like this. 

 

“Look, you’re cute, Will,” she says, turning around fully and looking him in the eye as she talks. It’s such a Gryffindor thing to do and he’s never been able to decide if that boldness is something he likes about them, or if it’s just uncomfortable. But, Chelsea isn’t done. “Way more than cute. You’re like… Every girl in our year would be more than happy to go out with you and you know it. But we’re all interchangeable to you, aren’t we? Everyone except for the Slytherin who doesn’t even seem to realize she’s got you wrapped around her little finger. Some girls are gonna be more than happy to spend a day or two letting you make them feel special, even knowing it’s all a game to you. But I’m not one of them. So, if you could quit it with the flirting, I’d appreciate it.”

 

To call Will shellshocked would be an understatement. He’s sort of frozen in place for a moment, heart pounding and eyes blinking too hard. There’s  _ way _ too much she’s just laid bare in front of him and he can’t process it all, but one thought overrides the others. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’ll stop. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

 

She sighs, rolls her eyes, and the girl next to her shakes her head at him. Girls are weird. He doesn’t get this. 

 

“It’s fine,” Chelsea tells him. “It’s not like I didn’t play along before. But it’s just… it’s too much, you know? You’re sweet and you’re cute and you’re funny and even if you play like you’re available, you’re  _ not _ . So, I’m done.”

 

“That’s-” he starts to protests, but he breaks himself off because whether he can counter that point or not - and he feels like he can - she’s said to stop and that means it needs to be the end of it. “That’s fine,” he finishes instead. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

 

Thank goodness their professor is utterly oblivious - a result of a rather explosive potions accident a decade ago - because Will’s pretty sure he’d be responsible for at least half of Hufflepuff’s house point losses otherwise. Okay, he’s not that far off in the first place, to be honest, because McGonagall misses nothing and does not appear to find him charming at all. At least, not to his face. 

 

So, Will is grateful for his potions professor’s inattentiveness. However, that doesn’t always mean it’s in his best interests. 

 

“Ouch,” Alex says from his side, raising one eyebrow as he looks his way.

 

“Shove it,” Will answers uncomfortably, stretching his neck and looking down at the ingredients in front of him. 

 

“I got nothing else to say,” Alex tells him. “Not like you’d listen anyhow.”

 

Will bristles in response. “What’s that supposed to-” 

 

“Rose thorns,” Alex says, tilting his head toward a bowl on Will’s side of the table as he crushes shards of moonstones. “Wanna take care of them? They’re already measured out.”

 

“Yeah, got it,” Will replies. He’s trying to tune out the voices of the girls in front of them, but he’s only sort of successful. He hears Amelia’s name and grips the bowl too hard as he tosses its contents into the cauldron. 

 

It’s only  _ after _ a giant plume of hazy red mist explodes outwards, totally coating him, that he realizes he sliced his thumb open on a thorn. 

 

“What the hell, man?” Alex asks, coughing as he steps back. It’s a fair question. Will had had  _ one job _ , after all. “You okay? What did you  _ do _ ?”

 

Will’s eyes burn and he can’t catch his breath, stumbling until he grips the table behind him and pulling the edge of his robes up to wipe the residue of the potion’s fumes away from his face. It helps a little. 

 

“I pricked my damned finger on a thorn,” he manages to tell Alex between coughs. 

 

Alex isn’t really prone to swearing, but when he does it’s almost always in Spanish. Still, the long string of what Will assumes to be very creative curse words from his friend are more than a bit startling. 

 

“You’re gonna want to get out of here, man,” Alex tells him. His voice is edgy enough that it tells Will the light stinging in his eyes is far from the most pressing issue he’s facing at the moment. 

 

“What?” he asks, blinking away the effects of the potion and looking at his friend. 

 

“You got your own blood in Amortentia and it exploded on you,” Alex tells him slowly, glancing around them with extreme wariness. “You got any clue what that means?” 

 

He does not, which is a fact that Alex clearly picks up on when he rubs at his brow and shakes his head before saying “You ever do the reading? You’re about to have half of Hogwarts chasing you.”

 

“What?” Will asks bewildered. He’s suddenly aware of a whole lot of eyes in the room fixated on him and it’s… it’s uncomfortable, is what it is.

 

“Hey, Will,” Chelsea says. Her voice is light and flirty - her cheeks pink - and she’s twirling the end of her tie, twining it around her finger while she talks. “Do you think maybe you could come give me a hand with my potion?”

 

And  _ that’s _ distinctly flirty, which makes no sense until Alex shoves him in the shoulder and tells him, “You’re gonna want to go  _ now _ .” Will takes one look at the urgency in his friend’s eyes before surveying the room to see a whole lot of gazes settled on him. Most of the girls - and a few of the guys - are acting… well, they’re acting strange. One of the Gryffindor prefects is playing with her necklace as she watches him. The other is very blatantly checking him out as he grins wolfishly, which is something Will had frankly not expected from the guy, but it’s not like that’s any weirder than the fact that self-appointed Pureblood queen Deirdre Pritchard is literally  _ sauntering _ his way.

 

How many times, exactly, had she pointed out that he was a Halfblood? That while his last name might be welcome, his muggle mother’s blood was definitely not? That he was a bastard who didn’t even deserve to be here? 

 

_ A lot _ . 

 

For the last six and a half years, he’s brushed it off with a joke and a smile, owning the title of bastard alongside the last name Queen and, in recent years, pointing out that being a halfblood isn’t so bad because most girls like things a bit dirty anyhow. But it’s not like that has ever stopped her - or stopped either of his baby sisters from getting into fist fights over it. And yet… here she is, looking at him like she might devour him entirely if given half a chance. 

 

“William  _ Queen _ ,” she pronounces, running her tongue along her teeth as she sets both of her hands on his chest. “I think it’s way past time we got to know each other, don’t you?”

 

Will chokes. Because no,  _ no he does not _ . He knows everything he wants to know about Deirdre Pritchard already, thanks, and he’s quickly wishing he’d taken Alex’s advice immediately and run from the room because she’s trying to slide her hand up the side of his neck right now and he’s never had such a viscerally negative reaction to a girl in his life. 

 

“ _ Help _ ,” he hisses at Alex. 

 

“Okay,” Alex agrees, “but if you think I’m not putting this all in a pensieve for Julianna and Elizabeth to watch later, you’re crazy.”

 

Will opens his mouth to protest, but Deirdre is trying to turn his head to look at her and she’s  _ really close _ and Will thinks he’s willing to do just about anything right now to get away from her. Why the hell had he left his wand on the desk? Where the hell is their professor? Who has teenagers brew love potions anyhow?

 

“Just keep it away from Nate, will you?” Will requests, hissing it through his teeth. His baby brother is just a little first year and naive enough as it is. There’s no way that a potions accident apparently setting everyone even vaguely attracted to him into overdrive  _ isn’t _ something the whole school will hear about, but his baby brother doesn’t need to see it. 

 

“You got it, bro,” Alex agrees, with a lopsided grin and a nod. Will’s not sure exactly what’s coming next, but he’s pretty certain he’s not gonna be a fan of it just from the look on Alex’s face. 

 

It turns out he’s very right. 

 

“Chelsea, I think Deirdre is making a move on your man,” Alex says. It’s loud. Too loud. And it has the effect of an auror apparating into an underage party, because suddenly everyone’s moving, everyone’s in an uproar and chaos reigns supreme. 

 

A well-aimed hex shoots right past him and smacks Deirdre with a blue bolt of light before her own tongue grows several feet and wraps itself around her lower face. Will isn’t sure if Chelsea’s intention was to make the other girl stop talking or to ensure her lips had absolutely no chance of contact with him, but the result is as shudder-worthy as it is escalating. Quite suddenly, hexes are flying every which way, several classmates quite literally trip over each other to try and grab him and one girl tosses the contents of her cauldron at him. Will’s not sure if he should be hoping she brewed it correctly or not, but he doesn’t have much time to think that through because sixty-something-year-old Professor Abernathy is sauntering toward him like some wild-eyed cougar. It’s a sight that will haunt his dreams, but it also finally spurs Will to action.

 

He bolts. 

 

Later, he’ll realize that Alex gives him cover on the way out. He’d have never made it otherwise. A few Impedimenta jinxes and a very well placed Ebublio on Chelsea right as she reaches the door threshold, trapping her in a bubble and everyone else in the class behind her, mean that Will owes his potions partner. _Badly_. 

 

But, as it turns out, escaping the class itself is only the first hurdle. The potion had exploded on him, of course, and it becomes very obvious very quickly that the residue all over him is still active. 

 

Eliza, a sixth year Ravenclaw he sort of knows because of Quidditch, tries to grab his arm as he scrambles down the hall. He’s faster than her, but she chases after him anyhow, his name tumbling from her lips and ricocheting off the stone hallways. Most of the school is in class right now, of course, but that’ll change in just a few minutes and Will realizes he needs a place to hide, to wait this out, to find sanctuary until the effects of the potion wear off. 

 

He keeps moving, zig-zagging through corridors as he racks his brain for where he can go. He needs a safe place to hide. He needs a safe place to hide. He  _ needs _ a safe place to hide… 

 

And, quite suddenly, there’s a door where there’d not been one before that grows out of a solid stone wall right before his eyes. It’s like an answer to his prayers and Will doesn’t stop to consider where the door came from or what might be behind it before hurrying through and slamming it shut behind him. 

 

“ _ Oh _ .” 

 

The door fades away, back into solid stone, but he scarcely even registers that because he’s suddenly face-to-face with Amelia and he can’t breathe. Being near her just hurts. Sitting behind her in Transfiguration, watching her smile quietly at her own successes, being close to her without being close  _ with  _ her has made a pang of longing tug at his heart for years. She has never been anything but polite to him, but every time he’s attempted a conversation that might lead them to be more than cordial classmates, she’s turned away. And to be this close to her now, with the effects of the potion in full force, he doesn’t know how…

 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

 

She’s looking him over, taking in the way he’s trying to catch his breath and tugging at his own tie, but it’s not with the leering eye he’d expected and had been equal parts hoping for and dreading. It’s… it’s polite. It could be any exchange between them. It’s just Amelia. And he swears he can feel his heart absolutely shatter as he considers the implications of that. 

 

Doesn’t she like him  _ at all _ ? Isn’t she attracted to him in the least? She’s dated other guys - stupid Thad with his stupid name, most notably - and she’d definitely been interested in him. So… so maybe it’s just him. Maybe she just doesn’t feel that way about him at all.  

 

A solid lump forms in his throat and he forces a tight smile he doesn’t feel in the least as he nods at her. “Yeah,” he croaks before clearing his throat. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

 

Whether she likes him or not, he’s pretty certain that he’s in love with her, with the way she smiles at her quill when she knows she got an answer right and she cheers her voice raw over Quidditch even if she can barely fly a broom. He loves that she’s smart and ambitious and  _ focused,  _ that she’s friendly with everyone but she’s oh-so-careful about who she’s actually  _ friends _ with. He loves that she’s a Slytherin prefect whose two best friends are a Hufflepuff muggleborn and a Ravenclaw halfblood. And - okay - he’s an eighteen-year-old boy so he also really loves the way her school uniform is just a touch too tight across her chest. But, really, that last part is secondary. 

 

Anyhow, the point is that he’s pretty sure he’s in love with her and that means he wants her to be happy, even if it costs him something, even if it means pretending for her sake that he doesn’t see her as anything more than a capable, pretty witch he has no real attachment to. 

 

“Potions accident,” he explains, licking his lips briefly as he watches her. “I pricked my finger on a rose thorn and didn’t notice until I tossed it in the Amortentia.”

 

Her eyes go wide at that and her mouth forms this perfect little ‘o’ shape that draws him in more than it should. “That’s… Will, that’s…” she starts, taking two steps back from him.   

 

“A stupid mistake,” he finishes for her with a self-deprecating half smile. “I know. And I’m paying for it. Half the class threw themselves at me, including Professor Abernathy.” She winces at that mental image, but he barrels on. “I escaped and I needed somewhere to hide and then this door appeared. I’m sorry for intruding. I didn’t know anyone was in here. I didn’t even know this  _ was _ here.”

 

“It’s the Room of Requirement,” she tells him, gesturing behind her at a varied array of books, seating and magical equipment. “If you require it, it appears. I have no more claim on it than you do and clearly you needed it, so… we can share.”

 

She’s keeping her distance, though, in stark contrast to her words. And her eyes flitter about the room, looking at the shelves of neatly lined books, at the fireplace, at the pair of oversized armchairs… everywhere but at him. 

 

He’d give every galleon in the vault at Gringotts that he’s sworn he’ll never touch just to know what’s going through her head right now.

 

“No,” he says with an attempt at a smile that he knows falls flat. “You’re obviously here for a reason and I’d just be in the way. Besides, it must’ve worn off by now, right?”

 

_ You’re unaffected, after all _ is what he leaves unsaid.  _ So it must have faded. _

 

“It hasn’t,” she says, tilting her head slightly and giving him a guarded look. 

 

Everything in him jolts as he tries to suss out precisely what she’s saying. 

 

“Amortentia has roughly a twenty-four hour effect,” Amelia reminds him. “Varying slightly depending on the appeal of the brewer.”

 

“So… anyone remotely attracted to me will act like they’re in love with me for the next day?” Will asks. 

 

“Infatuated with,” Amelia corrects sharply. “Not in love with. Amortentia is poorly named. It’s not a love potion. It breeds obsession and - in the case of mixing your own blood with it and wearing it as a cologne - twists attraction into uncontrollable infatuation.” 

 

There’s a whole lot of unspoken things right there that hurt to think about. She’s back to avoiding eye contact and the lump has re-lodged itself in his throat. If she’s exactly the same, completely unchanged… well, perhaps there really isn’t any attraction for the potion to twist. Maybe being in love with her will never bring him anything but pain. Maybe thinking of her will always hurt. Maybe he’ll keep comparing every girl he meets to her for the rest of his life and always find them lacking. 

 

God, what a thought. 

 

“Guess I’m stuck here for the next day, then,” he manages. 

 

“Don’t be silly, Will,” she tells him. “We’ll brew an antidote.”

 

“I can’t even brew Amortentia correctly,” he points out with a dry laugh. “Pretty sure an antidote is beyond me.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here, then,” she replies crisply, turning and reaching to grab a book off of an upper shelf. Just the sight alone would have had him struck speechless - she’s all long lines and her skirt rides up a touch and she’s easily the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen - but the notion that she’s here helping  _ him _ is what really steals his voice. 

 

“You’ll help me?” he asks after a minute once she’s sitting in a nearby chair, flipping through the dusty old tome. The look she gives him is one of surprise and he swears he falls in love with her all over again. 

 

“Of course I will,” she blinks. 

 

“Thank you,” he tells her after a beat before heading to the chair next to her and craning his neck to try and grab a glimpse of what she’s reading. 

 

_ Potentially Problematic Potion-Making Predicaments _ is an almost comically applicable title and he’s certain that it will have all the information they need to correct his current situation, but he still finds himself distracted by the way Amelia chews on her lower lip while she skims the text. 

 

He can’t help it. 

 

“A hate potion is the typical counter, but I think that’s a bit much, don’t you?” she asks, still reading. “The balance can be so tricky and we don’t want people being cruel to you either. There must be an apathy potion. That would be much better.”

 

“Yeah, I’d really like to avoid attempts on my life,” Will agrees. “And my sisters or brother trying to kill me might scar me for life.”

 

He leaves out that they’re so very well-trained by their vigilante father that they might well manage it. In his secret quest to take down the Death Eaters his father worked with, Oliver Queen has made no shortage of enemies - both behind a mask and not - and he has always made sure his children are well prepared for a fight, be it offensive or defensive.

 

“Putting up with a day of Chelsea or Daisy batting their eyelashes while they compliment your Quidditch form would probably be better than that,” she responds. She says it with no small measure of annoyance. It sounds… well it sounds a touch jealous and it leaves Will with both hope and questions. But Amelia isn’t done talking. “But I doubt anyone would try to kill you, anyhow. And surely not your siblings. That’s not how these potions work.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asks.

 

“They don’t just create love or hate. They grow and twist the tiniest bit that’s there. I doubt anyone dislikes you enough to have it progress to violence. All of these elixirs react differently with different people based on what’s there from the start,” she tells him.

 

It sounds vaguely familiar, like something he should remember from class but definitely hadn’t been paying attention to.

 

“So with a hate potion, people who are annoyed at me might really dislike me but it would take some serious anger to turn violent?” he asks. 

 

“Yes,” she replies, still looking down at the book, skimming the lines with her finger as she reads. 

 

“And with the love potion, people who think I’m good looking-”

 

“Not just good looking,” she clarifies. “Attractive in some way. It might be looks, or personality, or your family name” - well  _ that _ explains Deirdre anyhow - “but on some level if they’re drawn to you that will manifest as obsession. Except of course…” 

 

He stops breathing as he waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. A blush works itself across her cheekbones as she works her jaw back and forth, taking a steadying breath. 

 

“Except what?” he asks. The question is hungry, desperate, and he absolutely  _ needs _ an answer. 

 

“Nothing,” she says hurriedly, flipping to the next page. 

 

He can’t let it go, though. Not like this, not now. His hand covers the page she’s trying to read and it’s only then that she looks up at him, her bright blue eyes locking with his. They swim with surprise and they’re edged with hints of fear. But, sweet Merlin, he needs to know what she’d been going to say. 

 

“Amelia… except what?” he asks again. His eyes are pleading with hers, but he honestly doesn’t expect an answer. And he surely doesn’t expect the one he gets. 

 

“Except if there’s nothing there to twist, of course,” she starts, all hesitance and quiet vulnerability. “Or if it’s too much to twist.”

 

“How does that… what?” he asks again. He feels like a broken record he once tried to play at his muggle grandmother’s house as a child, stuck on repeat without a clue to the melody ahead. 

 

“If someone isn’t attracted to you, they won’t be infatuated with you no matter what potion you give them,” she explains. “And if they’re already… well, if they’re already crazy about you then what Amortentia makes them feel isn’t new, is it? So they’re unaffected.”

 

“Already…” his voice trails off in disbelief as he watches her with fresh eyes. He can’t quite believe his ears, can scarcely dare to hope. And yet… “Which… Amelia, please, which are you? I shouldn’t ask. I know it’s not fair and I’m sorry, but I haven’t exactly been subtle about how I feel about you and I can’t just leave it at that. I can’t…” 

 

She’s so very guarded looking back at him, her eyes watery and her whole body curled in on itself like she’s protecting her heart. And, in truth, she probably is. 

 

“I like you, Will,” she whispers in a voice that thunders through his head and will ring in his ears for ages. “A lot. Too much. I just haven’t trusted that you really like me. Not for real.”

 

“I do!” he says in a rush, gripping her fingers in his like he’s grasping for a lifeline. “I swear. I’ll prove it. Brew a potion. Make the same mistakes I did and see what I do when it explodes on you. I’ll be exactly the same, I promise, because I could not possibly feel more for you. I promise. I  _ promise,  _ Amelia.”

 

“Will…” she says warily. 

 

“I swear,” he vows again, feeling a little manic as his fingers stroke against hers. She doesn’t pull away and he swears that’s the most thrilling thing he’s ever experienced. Who needs Amortentia when there are actual feelings involved? “Amelia, I swear. It’s always been you. If you just give me a chance, just one chance… you’ll see. You won’t regret it. Not ever, I swear.”

 

She doesn’t answer with words, but her thumb strokes back against his in the smallest of motions and she leans a few inches closer to him. Both of them ignore the potions book in her lap as it slips to the floor. 

 

His free hand cups her cheek and a thrill shoots through him as she lets out a shuddering breath and melts a little bit against his palm. 

 

He can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe this isn’t a dream. He’s wanted this for so very long and he hasn’t realistically thought it would happen for years. 

 

There is the barest hint of hesitance on his part as he leans in toward her, the slightest hitch to give her a second to pull back if she changes her mind. But she doesn’t.

 

Kissing Amelia is like nothing like kissing other girls. It’s like that first rush of accidental magic, like that surge of electricity that shot through his veins unexpectedly all those years ago, opening the door to the rest of his life. Kissing her is just like that. 

 

When her fingers grip his tie and her lips part slightly against his as she kisses him back, he lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, giving himself over wholly to the rush of feeling setting his entire body ablaze in sensation. 

 

It’s magic given life and, given a taste of it, he can only crave more. 

 

He thinks he always will.

 

“Amelia,” he murmurs against her lips. His voice sounds weak, rough, even to his own ears. And she lets go of his fingers to curl a hand around the back of his neck. The angle is awkward, with two armchairs side-by-side, but he’s still beyond stunned when she uses his shoulder as leverage and slides onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. 

 

The weight of her against him is mind-numbingly perfectly and he’d pinch himself if it didn’t mean taking his hands off of her. But, as it is, his shaking fingers settle against the curve of her waist and he’s not sure he’d willingly move them for the world. He’s two steps past overwhelmed and straight on into euphoric by the time she pulls back slightly. 

 

It’s not much, just enough that he can see her kiss-swollen lips and bright eyes looking down at him. He’s dreamt of this, dreamt of  _ exactly _ this, but he’s stunned to find how much better reality is than his dreams. And when she strokes the scruff he’s recently started growing on his cheek like she’s been wanting to do it for months, he shuts his eyes and lets out an unsteady breath, savoring the sensation of her fingers on his skin.

 

There is, he thinks, no substitute for something real.  

 

“You have your chance, Will,” she tells him, her voice soft and trusting. A second later, her nose is rubbing gently against his and he can feel the heat of her breath and of her body positively blanketing him. “Please don’t break my heart.” 

 

“I couldn’t,” he exhales, nuzzling back against her. “I wouldn’t. Amelia, I’ve been in love with you for years.”

 

It’s the quiet chuckle from her that makes him open his eyes. “Me, too, Will,” she confesses. He feels like the world is spinning around him, like nothing but he and Amelia are real and the outside world, everything beyond him and her, just doesn’t matter. “You’re the reason Thad and I broke up last year.”

 

“What?” he asks, surprise shading his voice as she strokes her hands down the sides of his neck and watches her own fingers trail down along his skin. 

 

“He knew,” she tells him. “Even if you didn’t see it, he did. He and I might’ve made sense on paper, but it was never going to work when half of my heart was always with you.” 

 

“I didn’t… really?” he asks. She seems amused at the surprise in his voice and she smiles as she bites her lip and tugs down the length of his tie. 

 

He can’t lie. He fucking  _ loves _ ties right now. 

 

“You’re charming and smart and funny. You’re the best big brother I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You’d do anything for your family and your friends,” she tells him. “You make me laugh when I feel like I can’t. You care so deeply about doing what’s right, even if you seem so easy-going most of the time. You smile and it’s like the whole room lights up, Will. It takes my breath away. Everything about you has always drawn me in. It’s just also scared the hell out of me.”

 

“Because you didn’t think I really cared about you?” he asks. She tilts her head to the side a little in agreement. “I always have. I swear on my wand, you’re the only one I’ve ever felt like this about.” 

 

“I believe you,” she says. It’s like a weight slides right off of his shoulders, leaving him feeling like he’s been Levicorpused, like he’s floating on air. “I believe you because I  _ choose _ to believe you. And I think… I think that’s how this starts. With the choice to trust each other even when it puts so much at risk. I think that’s worth it.”

 

“Me too,” he agrees before breathing out a relieved “thank you.” He’s not sure if he wants to kiss her or just hold her or make love to her. All of it. He wants all of it. He wants to be with her in every way possible, to savor every moment and stretch them all out into eternity. He wants to prove to her day in and day out that he deserves the trust she’s placing in him. 

 

And, while this is only the first day of many that lay before them and he can’t possibly know it yet, that’s exactly what he’ll do. 

  
  



	18. November 2036

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Anon - I loved this week's chapter and the look into Ameliam as "friends"! You told me to mention the Amelia and Oliver flashfic after this weeks chapter, so here I am mentioning it...
> 
>  
> 
> lol... i completely forgot that i said this... OKAY, let’s flashfic it. Giving myself an hour and half, no edits. Let’s see how this goes... 

November is colder than usual this year and the bustle of holiday shoppers in the streets is both fast-paced and well-populated. It’s a good sign for the economy, Amelia thinks, and she’s happy for it even if her focus is entirely on work. She’ll get her shopping done later. Or... well, probably her assistant will get it done for her, but presents will be bought and isn’t that the point? 

Passing the retail shops, she ducks into a higher end restaurant and slips off her hat and coat as she looks around. It doesn’t take long to spot the person she’s got a lunch meeting with. Oliver Queen has the sort of presence that draws people’s attention, after all. 

With six solid years in the state senate under his belt, Oliver Queen has increasingly become a man of influence in this state. He’s an ally you want and an adversary you don’t. As chief of staff for Central City’s mayor, Amelia’s found herself on both sides of that coin with him on various issues, but today is definitely the former and she’s glad for it. Going up against Senator Queen on anything is never a pleasant experience. Or, generally, a successful one. 

“Mister Senator,” she greets, as she approaches. He rises from his seat and shakes her outstretched hand clasped between both of his. 

“It’s Oliver, Amelia,” he corrects, looking more amused than is really warranted. “Unless you want me calling you Madam Chief of Staff throughout lunch?” 

She wrinkles her nose up at that and relents, taking a seat and a sip of the ice water already in place at her setting. “Fair enough, Oliver. We’ll play it your way. For now. But the minute we start talking about the corporate tax rate, I’m going back to Mister Senator.”

He chuckles at that and grins at her, the amusement makes him look a couple of decades younger for a moment. “Well it won’t exactly be a friendly meeting anymore then, will it?” he asks. 

“Probably a good thing that’s not on today’s docket,” she agrees. “Plenty of other things to focus on... like your pending crime prevention initiative. Central City is absolutely on board. The mayor likes what she’s seen of it so far, but we clearly have special considerations, given our population. Metas aren’t a huge percentage of our offenders, mostly thanks to The Flash, but the ones we do have tend to be violent. Talk to me about how we address that and then we can sort out how to lock down Stanley and Whitter’s votes. That’ll put pressure on McIntyre and Powers.”

They’re all business for the next hour as they map out details and fine-tune plans. By the time they’ve both eaten and are both savoring a truly fantastic French Press coffee, Amelia’s confident both that Oliver’s initiative will pass and that it’ll make a difference in her city. Not a dramatic one, of course. There’s no full, fast, or complete fix for crime. But even a tick in the right direction in a good move and she’ll take what wins they can get. 

Business is more or less concluded when her phone chirps and she means to just give it a quick glance and get back to discussing plans for the holidays but the message itself distracts her. 

 _God_  does it distract her and she bursts out laughing before covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the noise.

“I’m sorry,” she says, still grinning as she shakes her head at Oliver. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” he tells her, one eyebrow ticked in mild curiosity. 

“Just...” she stops and shakes her head again, not sure why she feels compelled to explain. “Definitely not a text I expected.” 

She holds up her phone for him to see and his reaction is very nearly the same as her’s had been.   

But then, that’s not surprising considering there’s a photo of his son with a face full of very poorly applied makeup. He’s staring deadpan into the camera, his six-year-old sister’s hand barely visible in the frame, holding a tube of the brightest pink lipstick Amelia’s ever seen. 

 _Why_  is that so endearing? It makes her want to rush over and teach little Beth all about how to put on makeup, makes her want to guide the little girl’s hand as she uses Will as her model, makes her want... well she can’t even think about the rest of what it makes her want, can she? 

Just a friend or not, Will’s a painfully sexy guy and one of the most charming people she’s ever met. She can’t help being drawn to him. That’s been a problem from day one and, if she’s being honest, it’s worse now that they’re friends, now that she  _knows_  him. And seeing him like this? Like someone so incredibly devoted to his family, so willing to play the fool for their amusement... It builds a steady sense of longing in her that’s far deeper than attraction or that ever-present chemistry that zings between them. 

She wants to be there, wants to laugh and kiss that ridiculous lipstick off of him and knock them both over as she laughs against his lips. She wants... 

“What are you doing, Amelia?” 

The question is soft, lacking any sense of accusation whatsoever, but it snaps Amelia back into the moment. It’s only then that she realizes she’s biting her lip and staring at her screen with her finger tracing Will’s face. The idea that she let that much show in front of  _anyone,_ much less in front of Will’s father, is a bit terrifying. Later, in a more honest moment of soul searching, she’ll wonder if part of her did this on purpose, if some bit of her was looking for the conversation that followed. 

“I’m... nothing,” she says nervously, locking her screen and pocketing the phone. “I’m not doing anything.”

The weight of Oliver’s eyes on her is tremendous. It feels like it’s burning right through her and she knows his scrutiny sees everything there is to see, everything she’s fought to hide, even from herself. 

“Can we pretend for a minute that this isn’t a business lunch?” Oliver asks her. “As Will’s dad, I think it’s past time you and I had a talk.”

Amelia stares at her cooling coffee for a moment, letting those words rattling around her head before she nods and gives Oliver a sideways glance. “Sure,” she agrees. 

“I like you,” Oliver tells her. “But I love my son. And he’s in love with you.”

That’s a hell of a lot more sudden and blunt than Amelia could have expected and she finds herself sucking in a sharp breath and staring down at her lap as she fidgets with the edges of her napkin. 

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Oliver continues. “I’m not even sure you know. But if you aren’t going to let yourself love him back, I’m gonna ask you to let him go.”

The very idea of that is like a punch to the gut and she finds herself nauseous at the words. She blinks rapidly to clear her vision before glancing back toward Oliver. There’s still no judgement there and for that she’s grateful. He’s just a father trying to look out for his son and it strikes Amelia quite suddenly how much she likes this entire family. 

“He’s my friend,” she defends. It’s thin and Oliver sees right through it. His face is all sympathy as he smiles sadly back at her and it’s almost too much to take. 

“No, Amelia,” he counters. “He’s not. He’s your road-not-taken. And he deserves better than that.” 

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she says nothing. Instead, she looks back to her lap and wonders how, exactly, it came back to this. Thad or Will. She’s already made this choice. Made it more than once. So why, exactly, does it never seem to stick? What is it about Will - or about Thad - that keeps bringing her back to this decision. 

“I just want my son to be happy, Amelia,” he tells her. “And the longer this goes on with you two... If it ends up going nowhere, you and I both know it’s just going to hurt him. Neither of us want that. ...Do we?”

“No,” she breathes out. “I don’t want to hurt him. That’s the last thing I want.”

“Then I think you know what you need to do,” Oliver tells her, standing up and straightening his jacket. 

But the truth of it is... she doesn’t. Because there’s a reason she keeps coming back to this, keeps finding herself questioning that same decision she’s already made. She’s been comfortable calling him a friend these last few months and there’s been a steadily growing seed of  _something_  at the core of their newly minted friendship that feels like it has deep roots already firmly fixed in her soul. And she thinks... she thinks maybe Moira was wrong. Maybe  _she_  was wrong. Maybe Will is inadvertantly proving that to her every single day in little ways. Maybe if the best part of her day is when she FaceTimes him during a coffee break at work instead of a dinner date with her boyfriend at night, that says a lot. 

Maybe she needs to make a change. 

“Honestly, Oliver...” she says, looking up at him. “I’m not sure that I do.”


	19. October 2042

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween's always been Will's favorite holiday, but this one turns out to be his favorite so far. No tricks, just treats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herein lies delightfully smutty and slightly kinky Halloween fic. Enjoy. I know Will does.
> 
>  **EDIT - IMPORTANT NOTE:** Changes have been made to this to ensure it still fits in 'canon' given adjustments to the planned timeline. They're relatively minor edits. Mostly references to timespans (which is probably not why you read smut, right?).

October 2042

 

Halloween has long been Will’s favorite holiday. Whether he’d been a little boy thrilled at all-you-can-eat candy or a teen making the most of the town’s best haunted houses or a young adult having more fun than is probably advisable at a costume party, he’d found a kind of joy in Halloween that he doesn’t really associate with any other holiday.

 

This year, he’s lucked out because he doesn’t even have to work. Alex had managed to swap around shifts for their whole company with another one. How he managed that, Will doesn’t have a clue, but he’s pretty giddy about it anyhow. It’s kind of a last minute thing, though, and in spite of having a few parties they’ve been invited to, he didn’t bother getting a costume because he hadn’t thought he’d really need one. So, now it’s the day before Halloween and most of the shops in town are probably out of all the good options. In the past, Will’s taken his Halloween costumes pretty seriously. But now… well, now he’s just glad he’s going to get to spend the evening with his wife.

 

With his _wife_.

 

Just the idea of her sets him grinning like a loon as he drives home from work. They’ve been married the last two and a half months, and he genuinely thinks it gets a little bit better every day. One morning, maybe he’ll wake up and not be surprised that he’s holding the woman of his dreams. Then again, maybe not. It definitely hasn’t happened so far.

 

Last year he’d had to work on Halloween. So, this is the first time they’ll have celebrated the holiday together. She definitely already knows that he goes a little overboard for it, though. She probably figured that out around the time he bought a fog machine and an animatronic mummy for the yard. But spending Halloween together is a whole different experience and he wants to make it _awesome_.

 

They should have some kind of couples costume, he thinks. Not the cheesy kind, though. Devil and angel might be fun. Zombies are always good, too. Maybe Han Solo and Princess Leia? That’s always good _and_ it has the upside of Amelia in a gold bikini… if he can talk her into it. He thinks about how to do just that the entire drive home.

 

He’s so distracted by his thoughts that he doesn’t pay as much attention as usual to his surroundings when he parks his car and makes his way up to their townhome. He _does_ remember to grab that extra bag of Halloween candy from the car as he heads to the house, but he also kind of goes on automatic as he walks to his door and fits his key in the lock. In fact, he’s inside the house with the door shut behind him and tossing his keys in the bowl next to the door before he realizes Amelia is standing smack in the middle of their family room.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he breathes out, dropping the bag of candy on the floor.

 

One of the bags of reese’s pieces tears open in the fall and there’s a clatter of candy rolling around his feet, but he doesn’t look down. He doesn’t take note of it at all, really. He’s too busy standing slack-jawed staring at his wife, because Amelia is standing in front of him wearing the fucking sexiest costume he’s ever seen.

 

“I’m gonna assume that means you like it,” she smiles, raising an eyebrow and resting her hand around the hilt of a sword hanging from her hip.

 

“I’m… there’s… I’m,” he tries, but the words go nowhere.

 

She laughs and grins a little wider as she saunters - literally saunters - toward him. She knows exactly what she’s doing and for the hundredth time this week he thinks he must be the luckiest man in the entire world.

 

He just can’t stop _staring_. She’s in thigh-high suede boots and a short, ruffled skirt paired with an incredibly tight corset that’s frankly doing amazing things for her already impressive bust. And, to top it all off, she’s got the sword and a tri-point hat.

 

“On a scale of one to that time I felt you up under the table on our honeymoon, how turned on are you right now?” she smirks.

 

Oh yes, she knows _exactly_ what she’s doing.

 

“I want to undo the laces of that corset with my _teeth_ ,” he breathes out.

 

She laughs in response and it only makes her chest strain more at the fabric. It’s like a damned homing beacon to him and he just cannot stop staring.

 

“Is that any way to talk to a pirate captain?” she asks. He absolutely _loves_ when she’s playful like this. It’s the kind of aspect to their relationship that he’d only suspected could exist years ago. But, honestly, it’s one of the best parts now. They have so much _fun_ together. Whether that’s making up outrageous stories about the people around them when they go out or teasing each other in bed, it’s one of the biggest reasons he craves being with her every single day.

 

“Dunno,” he replies, forcing himself to look up at her eyes. “Depends on who I’m supposed to be, I guess. Your first mate? Rival ship captain? Castaway? Your serving wench?”

 

“Serving wench?” she laughs, taken by surprise.

 

“Baby, I’m gonna play any role at all you want me to here,” he promises.

 

“You _like_ this game,” she observes with interest.

 

“Yes ma’am, Captain,” he tells her, watching his own fingers in fascination as he draws them gently along the line where her corset meets the top of her breasts. “Very, very much.”

 

She sucks in a breath at his touch, which only pushes her bust up more. He moans and trails his hand down the side of her corset, following the line of firm boning showcasing her exquisite form until his hand settles on the curve of her hip.

 

“Not a good idea to touch a girl’s sword,” she warns him as his fingers brush against the hilt.

 

“Really?” he asks, fighting back a grin. “If you wanna touch my sword you’re more than welcome.”

 

She laughs at his absurdity and holds on to his shirt with both fists as she presses herself against him, kissing him soundly. “You’re ridiculous,” she breathes into his mouth.

 

“Thank God you seem to like that,” he tells her before tilting his head and sliding his tongue between her parted lips. His hands spread out across her ass and tug her flush against him. He’s been hard as a rock since the moment he registered her standing in front of him and the press of her hips against his groin sends a shock of sparks flooding his veins.

 

But for all that he’s the one tugging her closer and _he’s_ the one initiating a more intimate kiss, she’s surely the one in control here. She groans before absolutely plundering his mouth, sucking on his tongue as she tugs at his shirt like she’d prefer to tear it right off of him. Before long, she gives up on that and slides a hand down his front to cup him through his jeans.

 

He gasps so hard that he accidentally pulls away from her kiss, but he doesn’t go far. Moaning at the feel of her palm against his cock, he presses his forehead to hers and turns his gaze downward to watch as she rubs him.

 

“I think,” she says slowly, dragging out the words as she gives him a little squeeze, “that I like castaway.”

 

“Yeah?” he breathes out. His heartbeat pounds in double-time at the idea. Sex with Amelia is always amazing, whether it’s soft and slow or frenzied and wild. Sleepy early morning sex that starts off with her wearing oversized flannel pajamas is every bit as wonderful as when she sets out to seduce him wearing the finest lingerie she can find. He’ll take any of it, _all_ of it with her. But this has an extra layer of excitement. It’s new and thrilling and she’s in charge. That always seems to do something to Will.

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Lose the shirt.”

 

It’s definitely a command and one he’s more than happy to follow. Roughly, he grabs at his shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it aside.

 

“Better,” she proclaims, tracing a nail around the edge of one of his nipples.

 

“Amelia,” he moans.

 

“ _Captain_ Amelia,” she corrects with a warning look. “You look like you’ve been trapped on this island for a while, sailor. How long has it been since you saw a woman?”

 

“Way, way too long,” he tells her. Her hand has stilled against his length, even if her palm is still pressing firmly and he gives a little whimper as he tries to shift against her.

 

“Ah, ah, sailor,” she tsks, kissing the corner of his mouth teasingly. “I need to know a bit about you if I’m going to help you out. Otherwise… I suppose you might just be left here high and dry.”

 

“Whatever you say, Captain,” he agrees readily. For an instant, he considers chasing her lips, kissing her with every ounce of passion currently setting his mind swimming, but he suspects that would violate some unspoken rule and he’d much prefer this game continue as it is.

 

“Who are you, castaway?” she asks. “Are ye friend or foe?”

 

“As friendly as you’ll let me be, ma’am,” he answers with a smirk.

 

“Be you a pirate or do you fight for queen and country?” she asks, sliding her hand down his chest to toy with the thin trail of hair on his lower belly. His eyes flutter shut at that, captivating though she might be, she also surely knows how to set his nerves alight.

 

“I…” he pauses and swallows hard, but he’s only able to continue speaking when her fingers still themselves. “For queen. My queen is my everything, beautiful and quick-witted and kind… and a bit wicked.” He cups her face as he says it and tilts his head like he’d kiss her if given half a chance.

 

They’re scarcely two inches apart and he can feel the heat of her breath against his cheek when she asks, “Are you declaring your fealty to me, then?”

 

“Always, my captain,” he murmurs back.

 

“That’s a good start,” she says approvingly. “But you’re going to have to prove you’re of use to me before I let you aboard my ship. So, what do you think, sailor? ...Can you please your new captain? Your _queen_?”

 

“I goddamned well can,” he promises.

 

“Good,” she breathes out, letting go of him entirely and taking a few steps back. “Then prove it.”

 

He really doesn’t need to be told twice. Candy crunches under his feet as he takes one giant stride forward and grabs Amelia, wrapping both arms around her and kissing her with such force that she has to cling to him to stay standing. He’s so keyed up, so fucking turned on that his hands shake and his cock strains almost painfully against the zipper of his jeans. But he can wait. This isn’t about him. And, as much as he’d love to bury himself inside his wife _right fucking now_ , his focus needs to be on _her_. He needs to see her breathless and arching and crying out his name - or maybe sailor - considerably more than he needs any kind of release himself.

 

One of his hands finds the edge of her skirt and runs up the inside to find she’s wearing nothing at all beneath it. It’s unclear which one of them groans - probably both - but he takes a full hand of her ass and squeezes as they stumble backwards against the wall.

 

“Will,” she exhales, thudding her head back against the wall and widening her stance a little. She watches him with wide-blown, hooded eyes as she scratches her fingers through his hair and presses down ever-so-slightly.

 

He grins back at her wolfishly. He knows exactly what she wants right now and he’s more than happy to oblige.

 

“Boots stay on,” he tells her. “Corset, too.”

 

She nods in agreement and gives a breathy, “I like your plan, sailor,” as he slides down to his knees before her.

 

The scent of her is overpowering before he even reaches the ground and he moans at the welcome, familiar aroma of her.

 

“I think you like this game too, Captain,” he points out, running a hand up her inner thigh toward her most intimate space until he reaches her folds. She bites her lip and grunts a quiet noise of appreciation as he traces the seam of her lower lips before slipping a finger between them, finding her incredibly wet. Her body belies her eagerness even before she groans out his name, but that sure doesn’t hurt in the least either.

 

He might’ve deemed that the corset and boots needed to stay, but the skirt and sword have _got_ to go. Tugging the waistband down - it’s removed easily, thank goodness, clattering to the ground along with her plastic sword - he sucks in a wild breath of surprise to find she’s not completely bare beneath it after all.

 

No… she’s wearing a garter.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes out, pressing his nose just beneath the strip of fabric riding high on her thigh. “That is just…”

 

Finishing the sentence feels impossible, so he does something even better; he grips the little elastic band with his teeth and pulls it back, snapping it lightly against the flesh of her leg. Her eyes go wide just as she realizes what he’s doing and she lets loose a loud “ _Ah!_ Will!” at the gentle bite of elastic nipping at her skin. He’s back nosing away the fabric to lick at her reddened flesh by the time her hands have found purchase on his shoulders.

 

He’s fairly certain that her hold on him is the only thing keeping her upright. Something in him crows at that knowledge. He adores when she takes charge, loves when they’re entirely even and wholly wrapped up in each other. But moments like this, moments where it gets to be just about him honed in entirely on her? Well, he cherishes those, too.

 

It’s an easy thing to kiss his way up from the line of her garter toward the apex of her thighs and he savors every centimeter of the journey. Her gartered leg winds up over his shoulder and he parts her folds with one hand while he links fingers with her with his other. He licks a long, broad strip from her opening upward to circle her clit with his tongue before teasing the very tip of it ever-so lightly. Her body spasms against the wall, boot digging into his back and the lower edge of her corset scraping against the top of his head as she sucks in a ragged breath.

 

Making her come would be effortless. She’s on-edge already and Amelia’s always orgasmed easily for him, especially when he goes down on her. But this isn’t about the finish line; this is about milking her pleasure of all it’s worth. It’s a much harder thing to back off, abandon her welcoming warmth and tangy essence in favor of nuzzling against her hipbone or inner thigh whenever she starts clenching too tightly against him.

 

But he does it anyhow.

 

At least he does until Amelia starts getting _really_ frustrated. He can see it coming, feel it in the way her leg stays clenched longer and she starts to huff out sharp breaths of need.

 

“Will…” she grits out, gripping his hair and tugging a little. Lord, but he loves that. The pull of her fingers, the way she tries to guide him without being too pushy.

 

“Yes, Captain?” he asks, kissing the crease between her hip and thigh.

 

Her fingers twine a little harder and he can’t help grinning against her skin.

 

“You know what I want,” she tells him.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees with a devilish grin. “I do. But I really love hearing you say it.”

 

Her groan is harsh enough that it almost sounds painful. “I want your beautifully talented mouth on me until I see stars and can’t stand anymore. Then I want to ride you until you forget your own name. How’s that for saying it?”

 

And… well _damn_ when she puts it that way…

 

He’s fulfilling her command in an instant, laving and sucking at her like he simply can’t get enough. She’s already close, he’s ensured that much, and it doesn’t take long before she’s gasping, pinned between him and the wall and reaching for any kind of purchase to keep herself upright. He’s got her, though. Of course he does. And the moment she comes, body bowing before snapping back as her hips thrust mindlessly against his face, he’s ready and watching.

 

She’s beyond beautiful when she’s like this - wild, uninhibited, free. He has always loved Amelia, but he loves her best like this, at her most raw and honest, letting herself be swept away. She spent so many years, so much of her life denying everything she wanted, playing by rules she’d convinced herself that life was meant to follow. Not anymore, though. Not in a long time. He loves her more for it, for everything they went through to reach this place where they are husband and wife, where they’re playful and open and balanced.

 

And so it’s not just her breasts straining against the corset or the way she grabs his hair or the low moan of pleasure as she comes down that appeals to him. No, it’s the way she so easily shows him how much he’s pleased her when she gives him a dazed look and runs her hand across his cheek, the way she goes boneless against the wall and trusts him to guide her down safely without a word. They are partners, he and Amelia, in every sense. And that’s the part that really gets to him.

 

“How are you so good at that?” she asks once he’s lowered her to the floor and she’s climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him as she kisses the corner of his mouth.

 

“Dedication,” he answers.

 

“Hmm,” she considers, relaxing her body entirely against his. “Well as your captain, I’m pleased to find that quality in a sailor.”

 

“Captain,” he says with a laugh as she starts to gather herself. There’s a definite sense of intent in the way she’s started stroking at the side of his neck and he’s so very on edge that just the touch of her fingers makes him shudder. “I’m more than ready to serve you in any way you need… in case that isn’t obvious already.”

 

“I think it is,” she hums happily. “Welcome to my crew, my castaway. Provided you’re able to follow orders, I think you’ll do just fine.”

 

“Yes _ma’am_ ,” he chuckles, kissing her shoulder and letting his lips linger against her skin.

 

She sighs in a deeply contented way, letting him cradle her body close. He strokes his hand down her arm and she shivers, goosebumps rising up in the wake of his touch. The dazed, blissful look in her adoring gaze when she meets his eyes sets his heartbeat to triple-time.

 

His own need has not flagged in the least, but he ignores it for the time being. The feeling of his wife curled up in his lap, trusting and sated and happy satisfies him in a way that nothing else can.

 

“I love you,” he tells her fiercely, suddenly compelled to say it aloud.

 

The gentle, lazy smile that works its way across her lips somehow compounds the feeling that they’re in this little bubble together, just the two of them. It’s like nothing else in the world exists. And, for the moment, nothing else does.

 

“I love you, too,” she tells him, cupping the side of his face and stroking the too-long scruff of his beard with her thumb.

 

She wraps her arms loosely around his neck as she kisses him, soft and long with slow-building passion that always feels like it’s simmering just under the surface with them. She can turn him to putty in her hands with little more than a look and Will could not possibly be happier about it. That it’s still like this is something that astounds him. Everything seems so light, so perfect with Amelia. And while other parts of their lives might sometimes feel like a struggle, this never does. If anything, she has proven herself his anchor, his port in the storm during rough tides. But moments like right now, it’s more like a lazy perfect day floating along with her on a placid river when all he wants to do is enjoy the journey.

 

It’s no surprise to Will when Amelia presses gently on his shoulders to ease him back. Who needs a bed or a sofa when you’ve got a family room floor? Not them.

 

She settles above him, straddling his thighs as she trails kisses down his neck and chest. His breath hitches at the press of her warm, wet lips against his skin and he can’t help staring at her with a rush of anticipation as she blazes a path across his torso. At the same time as she starts working at the fastening of his jeans, she tugs lightly at his nipple with her teeth and he gives her a shuddering moan in response. His hips buck, partly at the lightning bolt of sensation that shoots straight down to his groin at her small nip at his chest, but also because with his fly undone, the confines of his pants are no longer quite so constricting. Her hand is _right there_ and it’s warm and soft and his body acts of its own accord straining for her touch.

 

“Hang on there, sailor,” she laughs against his pec. “I have plans for you.”

 

But as she speaks, her hand closes around his cock and strokes very, very softly. _Too_ softly. It leaves him straining more.

 

“Amelia,” he moans at her teasing. His own neediness might be embarrassing were he with anyone else, but he’s never _been_ like this with anyone else. And, with Amelia, he can’t bring himself to feel self-conscious. She knows precisely how badly he wants her and he’s glad for it.

 

“That’d be Captain Amelia,” she reminds him with a wicked little grin and she releases him entirely and goes to shove his jeans and underwear down. He arches a little bit, lifting his ass off the ground to help her out. The fabric all winds up around his knees, but that’s far enough for their needs and neither of them makes any move to rid him of it entirely.

 

Her teasing mood today nearly short-circuited his brain from the moment he walked in the door, but it’s taken to new heights when Amelia rises up on her knees, takes him in hand and very, very slowly lowers herself down onto him. He practically chokes on air at the sensation because he’s so incredibly aware of every single millimeter of her walls slowly encompassing him.

 

Reaching for her, however, proves very quickly to be a mistake.

 

“Nuh, uh,” she chastises, lightly smacking his hands away from her hips. “I’m in charge here, sailor. Remember? No touching.”

 

“Amelia,” he groans with a bit of a whine.

 

“Captain Amelia,” she corrects, rising up very slightly and lowering herself back down to start a painfully slow rhythm. Her nails scrape lightly against his chest and Will’s eyes flutter shut. “Do you need a reminder of that?”

 

He chuckles and forces his eyes open, giving her a heavy look. “Yes, please, ma’am.”

 

Her eyebrows shoot up at that and her sweet, kiss-swollen lips part a bit. “Alright,” she agrees after a beat, maintaining her languid pace as she rocks against him.

 

Will hadn’t really thought this through, hadn’t come up with any expectations of what she might do in response. But even if he’d thought about it, he wouldn’t have expected her to reach for her sword.

 

It’s plastic, of course, and incredibly dull. But it still sets a thrill shooting through his veins when she traces a line down his neck and chest with its tip. He gulps heavily and a few very fast bids for a lungful of air leaves his chest heaving.

 

“Remember your place, sailor,” she advises, leaning forward and leaving a whisper of a kiss against his lips.

 

But Will is a glutton for punishment today and boy is he eager to see what Amelia will do if he pushes the limits of this little game they’ve started. He reaches for the backs of her thighs, running his fingers along the soft skin where he knees crease. “What if I don’t?”

 

Her eyes widen in surprise both at his touch and his question. There’s no doubt in his mind that she’s more turned on than ever right now, that she’s enjoying this play at dominance more than she’d expected.

 

“It’s my job as captain to keep my crew in line,” she points out. “I guess I would have to enforce the rules… hold you accountable.”

 

He tugs her knees firmly at that, thrusting up at the same time. And _oh_ but that jolt of feeling that rushes through him - paired with the unmistakable, sharp cry of pleasure from his wife - immediately reinforces that this is a fantastic idea.

 

She falls forward against him, her hair draping in a messy curtain against his chest. It takes a second for her to catch her breath, but when she does she gives him an equally dangerous and aroused look that he will keep a snapshot of in his head forever.

 

Bringing the sword up next to his cheek she says, “Don’t make me restrain you, sailor.”

 

His eyes go huge at that and his voice drops by a solid octave when he replies. “Is that an option?”

 

Amelia gives a surprised chuckle and runs her tongue along her teeth before settling on some kind of a decision. He knows she’s feeling playful, knows that he’s actively asking for trouble, but he’s still a bit surprised when he winds up with both of his wrists pinned above his head by the length of her sword.

 

There’s something about that, something about being seemingly at her mercy and pinned beneath her that makes this all even _better_. Maybe it’s the self-satisfied look on her face. That surely doesn’t hurt, anyhow.

 

“On my ship, it’s an option if I say it is,” she tells him with a feral grin.

 

He can’t much move his legs, doesn’t dare move his hands. Instead, he just _feels_ … feels and watches. There’s something hypnotic about her like this, as she works herself against his cock purposefully. She’s loving it every bit as much as he is and that’s evidenced by the way she’s picked up her pace substantially.

 

Her corset-bound cleavage bounces right before his face and her face tightens in determination as she gets closer and closer to that brink, bringing him right along with her.

 

The clench of her slick walls around his cock, the way she slides up and rams herself back home again, it has his blood thundering in his veins and his breathing thready well before that familiar coiling starts low in his belly.

 

“Will,” she breathes out, meeting his eyes with a silent plea. The sword falls away, pretenses gone, and her fingers link with his instead. He happily twines them together and presses soft kisses against the line of her cheek. It’s such a stark contrast to the purposeful way she’s riding him, seeking out that edge of bliss for both of them.

 

Her temple is pressed against his when she sucks in a sudden breath, the rush of air ghosts like a breeze against his cheek, and she cries out an indefinable noise as her orgasm strikes. The sudden fluttering of her walls around him and the mindless drive of her body bouncing atop his is more than enough to send him flying.

 

And fly he does… or at least it feels like it. The world goes a bit white around the edges and he scrambles with his feet against the floor to press his hips upward, seating himself even deeper inside her as he spills his seed into the welcoming warmth of her body. A dull roar of his own pulse echos in his ears and it’s a very, very long moment before he catches his breath. But when he does, he has Amelia collapsed atop him, a sweaty, gorgeous mess who looks like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be in the world.

 

“Wow…” he breathes out.

 

“Yeah,” she smiles into his chest. He can feel the curve of her lips against his skin. “Wow is right.”

 

“Tell me that costume wasn’t a rental?” he requests.

 

She laughs at that, which feels a little odd because he’s still inside her, but in truth it just makes them seem all the more connected and he welcomes that. Her head tilts up to look at him and he finds himself lost in her affectionate, clear blue eyes.

 

“It wasn’t a rental,” she confirms.

 

“Oh _good_ ,” he grins before a thought occurs to him and he gives her a skeptical look. “You got that costume to go to a Halloween party _without_ me?”

 

“Don’t be silly,” she scoffs. “I got that entirely for you. I got a zombie costume for the party.”

 

He barks a laugh of delight and wraps his arms around her, kissing her soundly and rolling onto his side so that they’re nose-to-nose facing each other.

 

“Have I told you lately that you’re perfect?” he asks her.

 

“No,” she counters. “I’m not. But we are pretty perfect together.”

 

There is, quite simply, no way he can argue with that.

 

 


	20. June 2051

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate's search for a competent assistant takes a twist he doesn't expect and definitely isn't ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick flashfic in the Forever Is Composed of Nows ‘verse, specifically for Nate/Penny (aka BookQueen). This is the one sequel that both of us will be writing together like we did with FICoN and early parts of POA. It’s still a ways off, but along with the rest of the FICoN ‘verse, these two are never far from our thoughts…
> 
> *This is unbetaed and will likely get edits for the final story.*

There is very little that Nate Queen dislikes more than inefficiency.

Chit-chat around water coolers and meandering lunch breaks spent talking about weekend plans is a waste of company time that’s not a whole lot better than stealing, in Nate’s opinion. At work, you have a job to do. You have a purpose and that purpose is not to gush over the newest reboot to hit theaters or talk about the exploits of some celebrity billionaire that got splashed across the gossip blogs.

Okay, that last one might be taking things a bit personally, but his point stands.

The fact that so few people seem to  _share_  Nate’s devotion and work ethic is both frustrating and a problem. For the life of him, he cannot seem to find an assistant who can live up to his standards. The job is not, in spite of assumptions, one that runs nine-to-five. The work day ends when the work is completed and not a moment before. Nate holds himself to that standard and he surely holds his assistants to it.

Which is why he’s burned through three of them so far this year and is currently relying on a temp agency while he searches for someone who actually  _wants_  to be a professional instead of goofing off half of the time.

His last assistant had been on  _Twitter_  while she was working. Ignoring the fact that no one even uses Twitter these days, what could be the possible justification for that?

No one in Human Resources had been surprised in the least when he’d informed them that he was going to need them to vet some new candidates for him, but they’d definitely been annoyed. This time, he tells himself, this time he’ll make sure he gets someone right for the job. This time, he’s going to find a good, dedicated, long-term assistant that doesn’t leave him back in the H.R. department before the end of summer. For one thing, having to spend time interviewing someone so routinely is terribly inefficient. And, honestly, counterproductive.

Knowing him as they do, H.R. has had trouble getting anyone past the first round of interviews. Nate has become somewhat notorious for his exacting standards and he suspects the hiring manager is pulling no punches in describing exactly what working for him is like. He’s not an easy boss, but he demands no more of others than he’s willing to give himself. While he might not be easy to work for, he is fair.

But, there’s something of a deviation from normal procedure today. That alone would be enough to make Nate a little unsettled - he likes routine; procedures are there for a reason - but the reason for it also just rubs him the wrong way.

It had started, of all things, with a call from his brother.

“ _Hey, so… no pressure here, but I need to ask you for a favor_.”

The statement alone had been a surprise, but Nate had assumed he needed a babysitter for some reason and had been ready to agree until Will continued.

“ _Actually it’s Beth’s friend who needs… No, Micah, don’t you dare put peas up your brother’s nose!… Who needs a favor_.”

It hadn’t been the deviation in the middle that had thrown Nate.

 _“I’m not asking you to hire her,”_  Will had continued _, “but Beth’s got this friend, a girl a few years older than her who tutored her in her business class. And she’s looking for a job. And Beth might’ve promised she could get her an interview at Q.I.”_

Nate had barely bitten back a curse. Of  _course_ she had. Beth’s absolutely the type to promise something then bat her eyes until other people make it happen.

It’d taken Will a while to talk him into it and Nate had really only been convinced because his youngest nephew had started wailing. Apparently he’d really wanted peas up his nose and it quickly became clear that Will was doing his best to comfort the toddler while simultaneously continuing to attempt to persuade him. And, okay, Nate might be a hard-ass of a boss, but he’s a pushover when it comes to his siblings. So he’d finally sighed and agreed before taking down Beth’s friend’s information and forwarding it over to Human Resources.

Penny Bookwalter.

She was one year out of college with a bachelor’s degree in business administration and an associate’s in administrative assistant studies. She might’ve been a strong candidate for a lower level manager, either as an assistant or working in accounts herself. The education is surely there, but the experience is not. Aside from an internship at a company that went belly-up last winter and a few temp jobs, the only thing to recommend her is a handful of glowing letters of recommendation that Will sends on her behalf.

Except Bethany, of course.

Nate isn’t especially close with his half-brother’s baby sister. He likes her well-enough, he guesses, went to her wedding and wrote a really hefty check as a gift. But they could not be two more different people if they tried and they rarely spend time together or even chat outside of extended family gatherings. So, he’d been more than a little surprised to see her when she’d turned up at his office with a bag of donuts and a toothy smile that meant she had an agenda.

Like Bethany Samayamantula has ever done  _anything_  without an agenda?

She’d dropped a bag of bear claws on his desk, perched herself next to it and said, “ _Hello, my almost-brother. Let me tell you about my amazing friend and why you need to hire her_.”

Frankly, she’s going to be terrifying when she’s done getting her real estate license. He’s glad he never has to negotiate with her. Well… for anything other than this, anyhow. Still, he respects her for going to extra mile for her friend and the simple fact that she  _does_  builds his interest in the would-be assistant.

She still should’ve gone through the proper channels rather than vaulting straight past the screener appointment to have a sit-down with him, which will be starting in - Nate checks his watch - fourteen minutes. Presuming she’s on time. If she’s not it won’t be starting at all.

His favors only extend so far.

Nate collates the papers for Edgarton into a neat pile before slipping them into a folder. He ignores the twinge of annoyance at having to hope the temp currently working for him doesn’t misfile these, or worse, file them in the wrong place completely like she did with the Applied Sciences project that’d gotten fast-tracked last week.

Collecting the folder and a memo with his notes, he heads out of his office. She’d misspelled words he didn’t even know people  _could_ misspell, which simply only telegraphed her laziness not only with his files but his dictations as well. It’s simply a reminder that he absolutely will not hire someone just so that he’s done with hit-and-miss temps. This one is surely a miss.

It might help if she’d actually stay at her desk.

Nate stops dead in his tracks and clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring. Only the fact that he hears her heels on the marble floor in his outer office saves her, followed by her saying, “Sorry your coffee’s in a plastic cup, I couldn’t find the real ones.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” someone replies. The answering voice is soft, reserved, and a little nervous, judging by the way the words end in a lilt. She’s being nice, that much is obvious, especially because it’s  _not_  fine, not in Nate’s estimation. The coffee mugs are kept on a rack that sits right next to the espresso and coffee machines and he has to wonder where in hell Miss Dunsworth went to get that cup of coffee. The voice continues with an equally soft, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” Miss Dunsworth says. The casual nature makes Nate’s eye twitch. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Nate raises an eyebrow. Is this his interview? He glances at his watch again, but it’s exactly as he thought, except now he has thirteen minutes before the scheduled appointment. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little bit impressed. It’s almost enough to assuage the fact that he’s having to do this at all.

“Oh no,” the soft-spoken woman says, “please don’t interrupt him if he’s busy. I’m early.”

“Alright. That’s probably a good idea, he can be kind of a d-i-c-k sometimes.”

Nate isn’t sure which emotion hits him first - aggravation, anger, or amazement that she can spell the word dick just fine, but she thinks the word agreement actually has four e’s. He doesn’t get the chance to react, though, because the person he assumes to be Miss Bookwalter replies.

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Queen,” Miss Dunsworth supplies.

Nate moves to catch a glimpse of his temp leaning against one of the couches in his waiting room as if she’s at home and not in a professional work environment.

His temp isn’t finished.

“The only reason I’ve stuck around so long is because the stick that lives up his ass doesn’t take away from how insanely hot said ass is.”

 

 _Oh, is that all?_  Nate thinks dryly.

Miss Bookwalter doesn’t skip a beat and Nate almost does a double take at the change in her voice as she says, “It sounds like he knows what he wants.”

“Yeah,” Miss Dunsworth says. “To be a dick. Just a little warning, he’s not easy to work for. In fact he’s hard as hell to work for. He made me stay until  _seven_  last night to finish some paperwork when it could have easily been done this morning. Hi, people have lives.”

“If the work needs to be finished,” Miss Bookwalter replies, “you should stay until it’s finished. If that’s what your boss needs.”

Yes.

 

_Exactly._

There’s not an ounce of bite to her words, but the point is there, and it’s direct. Nate’s aggravation with his temporary assistant shifts to intrigue as he glances at where Miss Bookwalter sits. All he sees are a pair of simple black heels and bare calves.

“You are way more patient than me, girl,” Miss Dunsworth replies. “I’m just saying, I’ve been temping for a few years now and this guy is by far the worst I’ve ever experienced.”

The silence that follows is almost tangible, and Nate is too transfixed to do anything but watch. He can see with each second that passes that it wears on Miss Dunsworth. She starts to wilt, clearly not finding the camaraderie that she’d been expecting.

“Thank you,” Miss Bookwalter finally replies and Nate’s eyes switch back to where the woman sits up taller. “I’ve been doing temp work, too, and I can speak from experience that not every work environment is right for everyone. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong, either. You just have to find the right place for you.”

Miss Bookwalter is cordial and even-tempered and, once again, so damn direct in her own way that Nate almost smiles.

Miss Dunsworth finally picks up on it. “True.” She’s much more muted now and if Nate was a betting man - he isn’t - he’d say she was flush with her own brand of agitation. The silence this time is heavier as she steps back. “I’ll let him know you’re here when it’s time.”

“Tha-”

Nate’s moving before he can stop himself.

The proper thing would be to go back into his office and deal with Miss Dunsworth later, and then take the interview with Miss Bookwalter as scheduled, but he doesn’t do that.

Instead he steps out from his inner offices with a sharp, “That won’t be necessary,” which makes his temp jump.

It’s painfully obvious he’d been listening in, judging by the look on her face as much as by the way he catches the other woman’s shoulders dropping in his peripheral.

“Oh, Mr. Queen,” Miss Dunsworth starts, but Nate waves her off.

“These are for you,” he says, handing her the file. She  _is_  flushing, making her skin splotchy all across her chest.

“You’re done with the Everton thing?”

Nate damn near grinds his molars into dust. “Yes,” he replies. “The  _thing_  for  _Edgarton_ is done.” He forces himself to take a deep breath and says a soft, “Thank you,” before turning to Miss Bookwalter. “You must be…”

For those four minutes he’d been listening in he honestly thought he knew what he’d be expecting when he finally turns to this friend of Bethany’s who had already impressed him with just a few words.

He could not possibly be more wrong.

Penny Bookwalter is absolutely nothing like he might have imagined, as a friend of Bethany’s or as someone who doesn’t back down in the face of unprofessionalism.

The petite redhead immediately stands in response, holding her hand out. The reserved nature he’d heard in her voice earlier is readily apparent in the air around her once more, and the nervousness is back, he notes, as she closes the distance between them. But there’s something else underneath it, an excitement he’s never seen in another person, a vitality that makes him blink twice.

And she’s absolutely  _beautiful_. Shockingly stunning, even.

He’s struck dumb in a way he hasn’t felt in years and it leaves him floundering slightly.

“Penny Bookwalter,” she fills in, offering her hand to him.

He mutely takes it, unable to take his eyes off her. A remnant blush is evident on her cheeks and up over her temples, mixing in the with the vibrant color of her hair. Her eyes are alert, but there’s more than nervousness there. She’s worried, about what he overheard. He immediately wants to tell her that the interview hasn’t even started and he’s already taken with her.

_Taken with her?_

No, she’s here for the interview, to be his assistant. Not to  _date_  him.  _Date?_ Nate does another double take, this time at himself, because where exactly were these thoughts coming from? He was at work, meeting with a potential employee, not looking for someone to sweep off their feet.

“Nate Queen,” he replies, his voice low, lower than he intends. Her eyes widen minutely before she catches herself, but she can’t quite control the way her hand tightens in his. He grasps hers a little closer - it’s small and it fits beautifully against his fingers - and is about to add more, but she’s already talking.

“I know who you are, Mr. Queen,” Penny says, giving him a good, solid handshake. If someone would’ve judged her handshake based on the soft way she spoke, this isn’t what they’d get. No, this handshake more matched the woman who’d inadvertently stepped up to bat to defend a job she didn’t even have yet. “It’s so good to meet you. Thank you for taking the time to interview me, sir.”

Something deep inside him tugs, the combination of her voice, so soft and excited and nervous all at once, along with the strength in her personal presentation to him pulls him in even more than he already was. There’s a solid foot of height difference between them and he knows the instant she feels it when he just stares at her for a beat, trying to suss out what it is exactly that’s capturing him so much about her. It’s only when her cheeks flush as red as her hair that he realizes what he’s doing.

“I’m glad to have the opportunity, Miss Bookwalter,” Nate says. When she doesn’t immediately correct him to use her first name, he smiles.  _Genuinely_. He likes that. “Please come inside so we can get started.” 


	21. Probably sometime in 2053

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny's focus is tested and Nate is definitely enjoying the results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, though also not terribly explicit. No worries. You'll get that in spades in their sequel. 
> 
> This one was written entirely by Bre. Some variation of it will likely end up in the full story, but changes are likely as we progress. Again, Nate and Penny's sequel is a ways off still but we are writing it together and we are pretty damned excited about where we're going with them. Enjoy!

It’s a point of pride.

Penny takes a slow, deep breath, blindly staring at a spot over his shoulder as she focuses on his voice. No, on what he’s saying. Because he’s talking about work and if there’s one thing she never messes around about, it’s her job.

Like she said: it’s a point of pride.

Which is exactly why his fingers are drawing circles against her inner thigh, silently urging her to spread her legs for him so he can go a bit higher.

Penny takes a shaky breath, trying to think of something else, anything else. The restaurant around them is busy with the lunch rush and the bar where they sit is solid under her arm as they wait for his usual table to be prepared. The glass of water before her is ice cold where her fingers brush against it. But somehow it’s still  _just_ them, and that sets fire to the simmering pool of need in the pit of her stomach, knowing they’re in public but that she’s still in his cocoon of safety.

His fingers go higher and her breath hitches.

But it won’t be as high as she needs, they both know that. He’s been teasing her all morning, pushing her to the brink with featherlight touches that have no business being so damned erotic before pulling back.

It takes her too long to realize that she’s not hearing him anymore, that blood rushing through her ears has replaced his words and all she is really concentrating on is the low growl of his voice, and that she’s imagining him whispering other things to her instead, things that make her panties so wet it’s uncomfortable.

_“If you touch yourself before I do, Penny, I’m going to pull out that new flogger I just bought… God, I love the way you blush for me. You want me to use that on you, don’t you? Say it.”_

A shiver of frustration rockets through her and before she can stop herself, Penny clamps her legs together, trapping his hand.

_Oops._

Nate stops mid-sentence, his eyebrow ticking up. His eyes burn into her and Penny bites her lip, never looking away from the spot over his shoulder, even as she says, “Sorry, I missed that.”

“Missed what, Miss Bookwalter?” Nate asks, perfectly still, perfectly calm.

Penny shivers, even as she silently curses him. Her eyes dart to his and oh, that’s a mistake because his pupils are blown wide, eclipsing nearly all the color as he stares at her with fathomless depths of desire. He knows exactly what she’s thinking, about this, about him. It  _thrills_  him.

_Oh damn it, damn it, damn it._

“Wh-what you said,” she replies, licking her lips. His eyes slip down to her mouth and they darken even more, as if that was even possible.  _Oh god._ Penny takes a deep breath. “About the Cyrex Project.”

A slow smile slowly transforms his face as he meets her gaze again. He’s pleased that she at least remembered what they’d been talking about in general, and that has warmth suffusing every inch of her. It’s heady and she’s too damn far gone to temper her reaction. Something else that pleases him as her cheeks warm.

_“Your skin is so fair, I can read every single thought in that beautiful head of yours just by how much you’re blushing.”_

“I was saying…” Nate says, leaning in closer. “That I think we should set up a lunch meeting with the project heads to get an update. I know we’re ahead of schedule, but I want a plan for how we intend to stay that way.”

Penny moves to respond - she’s already mentally going through the motions, figuring out what she needs in order to accomplish her task - but he doesn’t let her.

Without warning Nate pinches her inner thigh,  _hard_ , and the sudden burst of pain has Penny gasping, barely keeping herself from yelping as she moves to cover his hand where it still sits between her thighs.

She forgets her hand is by her water, though, and she knocks the glass over.

Water splashes against the bar, but Nate is fast enough to catch it before it spills. It’s not enough to save her completely, though, and ice cold water is soaking into her shirt before she knows what’s happening.

Penny gasps again, her nipples instantly hardening as the soaked material clings to her breast. She moves to cover the cold spot, but Nate is once again faster. His eyes widen as he glances down and then his nostrils flare as he grabs the edges of her blazer, tugging it closed. She whispers his name, but he’s already leaning in, his lips brushing against her ear as he asks, “When did you take your bra off?”

 _Oops_.

Penny bites her lip, ducking her head. She considers lying, but just as quickly as that option enters her head, it’s gone a second later.

“When I went to the bathroom.”

“Did you think that would make me let you come sooner, Miss Bookwalter?” he asks, his breath ghosting over her cheek. “That I would be distracted and forget that I haven’t let you come all morning?”

He pulls back, still somehow appearing to be the attentive boss who just wants his assistant to hear him. She’s not fairing so well as she quickly turns into a trembling mess, silently answering,  _Yes, yes, please…_

When she doesn’t respond right away, he knows the answer.

Nate smirks, giving her a look that nearly has her coming apart at the seams right there. Something catches his eye over her shoulder and then he says, just for her ears…

“When we get to our table, I want you to take your jacket off so your blouse can dry.”

Penny jerks back with a whispered, “What?”

Mortification slices through her -  _her shirt is transparent, damn it_  - and she’s about to launch into all the various reasons why she will  _not_  be doing that, under any circumstances, most of which include someone seeing and making more insinuations about them that the rumor mill has already taken care of…

But he’s just smiling, as if he’s reading her mind and he has a response for every single thing she’s thinking.

It’s the same cool confidence that has always defined every edge of him, from his actions, to his words, to his touch, to the sound of his voice. He wants her to do it for him, because he knows it will  _only_  be for him. It doesn’t matter that they’re in a full restaurant or that there will be someone serving them or that it’s the middle of the day… As long as he’s here, watching her - watching  _over_ her - only he’ll see her.

And that knowledge has a whip of fire cutting through her, so intense it makes her whine. It’s loud enough around them that nobody else hears it but him, and the way pleasure fills his face has the fire doubling. Need pulls at her core and a rush of wetness pools between her thighs.

Nate quirks his eyebrow, waiting…

Penny smiles for him with a soft, “Yes, Sir.”

“Mr. Queen,” the hostess says behind them. “Your table is ready.”


	22. June 2039

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're ever on a road trip with Jules Queen, it's critical that you not give her your phone but do give her snacks. Ellie and Nate learn this the hard way. Will, for his part, already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STOP! 
> 
> If you have not yet read the opening chapter of Tempest, there are very heavy handed hints here as to what happens. I strongly advise reading it first. 
> 
> There are also vague hints in this with regards to Will for something that's covered in the second chapter (after the prologue) in Tempest. That hasn't been posted yet, but I don't think that it's blatant enough to be a spoiler. So... you're probably good there. 
> 
> Other than that... Enjoy!

** June 2039 **

 

“Ellie, I love you but I might have to kill you.” 

 

From the driver’s seat next to Jules, Will snickers and shakes his head. She can’t see his eyes smiling, but that’s only because his aviator-style sunglasses block the view. 

 

Traitor. It’s not like he loves Ellie’s music either. 

 

“Maybe you’ll win the coin toss to control the playlist on the way back,” Ellie replies from the back seat with an infuriatingly chipper tone that just adds insult to injury. 

 

“I hope not,” Nate counters. “That’s way too much screaming for a five hour drive.”

 

“Excuse you,” Jules protests, taking full offense. “My music is not screaming. It’s just also not mournful singers moping over lost love, Nathaniel.”

 

“Turn around,” Nate orders Will. “I can’t tolerate three more hours of Adele slander.”

 

“It would be two more hours to get home,” Will points out, completely unmoved by his brother’s decisive command and firm tone. “And I’m not turning around, so you’re just gonna have to learn to deal with Jules’ music opinions.”

 

“He hasn’t in the last seventeen years,” Jules deadpans. “I find it hard to believe he’ll gain that ability in the next three hours.”

 

Will reaches out and flicks her ear in response. 

 

“ _ Hey _ ,” Jules protests, rubbing away the sting from her earlobe. 

 

“Can’t flick me back,” Will tells her tauntingly. God, he’s such a brat. “I’m driving. That would be dangerous.”

 

“It’s on  _ self drive _ ,” Jules points out, folding her arms and giving her big brother a pointed look. She does not, however, flick him back. She knows better. Will takes car safety very, very seriously.

 

It’s about the only thing he takes seriously, though, which she’s thoroughly reminded of when he sticks out his tongue at her. 

 

“You’re  _ thirty _ ,” she emphasizes. “You’re a  _ grown up _ .”

 

“Only chronologically,” Nate chimes in. He’s staring down at the tablet in his hands, doesn’t even look up at his siblings. Jules snickers openly as she looks back at him. Sometimes, Nate can have a surprisingly dry sense of humor that she’s appreciating more and more as they get older.  

 

“How can you not like this song?” Ellie demands, shifting the conversation back to music. “It’s like  _ the _ song this summer.”

 

“Exactly,” Jules replies, because that  _ is _ the point. “It’s mind-numbing and it plays every forty-five seconds.”

 

“Doesn’t it make you want to dance?” Ellie asks, bouncing in her seat to the beat. 

 

“We’re sitting, Ellie,” Jules points out. 

 

“Bopping along is kinda like dancing,” Ellie insists. 

 

“I’m offended,” Jules announces in a flat tone with hard eyes. “We’re in a fight. I’m not talking to you anymore.” 

 

Ellie just grins cheekily at her and turns the car’s music up from the controls on her phone as Jules groans. 

 

“Chin up,” Will tells her as she thuds repeatedly against her headrest. “It’s not that long of a song.”

 

“Are we pretending the next one will be better?” Jules asks, rolling her head to the side to look at her brother. “Cause I’m pretty sure it’s gonna sound like bubblegum in music form.” 

 

Will laughs at that. “Okay, well, it’s just three more hours, then. You can make it. Next time bring ear plugs.”

 

“Next time?” Jules asks, her eyebrows shooting up in cautious disbelief. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

 

“Depends on how much we find, I guess,” Wil shrugs. “There might be.”

 

Jules’ first instinct is to groan, but she tamps that down and bites her lips together instead. 

 

“This is worth it, Jules,” Will tells her quietly, because he’s always been able to read her mind. “You know it is. It’ll mean a lot to Uncle Roy… to all of them.”

 

He’s right and she knows it, so she nods in quiet agreement, watching him with sober eyes that take this all just as seriously as it ought to be. 

 

But their younger siblings in the back seat don’t seem to have the quite the same appreciation.

 

“Is there wifi there?” Nate asks, suddenly looking incredibly anxious at the thought. “I just assumed there was, but now I’m looking at the route and it’s  _ really _ in the middle of nowhere.”

 

“Nope,” Will tells him. “Sorry, Nater-tater-bug.”

 

“There’s no wifi?” he asks, aghast in horror. It’s clearly genuine because he doesn’t even protest to the nickname. “Will! How am I supposed to do my homework?”

 

“Just use your hotspot,” Ellie tells him. 

 

“Yeah, if the cell has a signal, that’s a good plan,” Will agrees. “As long as your battery holds.”

 

This is when Jules figures out what Will is doing and actually has to press her mouth into her shoulder to hide her laughter. 

 

“What do you mean if my battery holds?” Nate asks dangerously. 

 

“I guess you could charge it in the car if you have the right adaptor,” Will muses. 

 

“Are you telling me there’s no  _ electricity? _ ” Nate asks. He’s pale and the horror in his voice is unmistakable. 

 

“I think there might be a generator,” Will says. How the hell he’s keeping a straight face, Jules has no idea. “But the water pump is really easy to use, so don’t worry about that.”

 

“There’s no running water?” Nate demands. His jaw drops and his voice squeaks like it used to all the time just a few years ago. “Where are you taking us?”

 

“God, you are so gullible,” Ellie sighs, shaking her head. “Will, stop messing with him.”

 

Will’s grin is positively blinding and he chuckles as he he catches his little brother’s gaze in the rearview mirror. 

 

“Jerk!” Nate announces, pink-cheeked with embarrassment as realization dawns. “I can’t believe you did that!”

 

“This is  _ Will _ . Have you  _ met _ Will?” Jules scoffs, turning around to give her little brother a bewildered look. 

 

“Still!” Nate protests, gesturing in a wild-but-vague manner with both of his hands. 

 

“Nate… it’s Aunt Thea and Uncle Roy’s cabin,” Ellie points out. “Can you see Aunt Thea ever having gone to a place without electricity? Much less owning a vacation home without electricity?”

 

“Well, how do I know?” Nate asks exasperatedly, tossing both of his hands in the air. “It’s not like Uncle Roy’s been there since she died. Maybe he had it turned off.”

 

“He didn’t,” Will says, suddenly seeming a touch more sympathetic. “There’s wifi and electricity and running water. Someone in a nearby town maintains the place. Grandpa Robert left it to Aunt Thea when he died. It meant a lot to her, even if it wasn’t really accessible in her last few years. Uncle Roy is never going to let anything happen to that place.” 

 

“But he hasn’t been back?” Jules ventures, watching Will carefully. She swallows back the darker edges of her thoughts. “Since he lost her? He hasn’t gone to the cabin again?”

 

Will pauses and watches her for a moment before answering. Per usual, it feels like he’s looking right through her. It leaves Jules wishing she had a way to escape. 

 

“Sometimes things and places just hit a little too close to home after we lose someone,” Will tells her. “He hasn’t been back. At least according to Eric.”

 

“He’d know,” Ellie notes as Jules turns and looks out the window, watching the greenery roll by. 

 

“Yup,” Jules agrees absently. “He would.”

 

An uneasy silence follows and Jules really can’t abide that so she breaks it in typical noisy fashion. 

 

“What is there to do up there, anyhow? Since we’re apparently going to be there for two nights,” she says. 

 

“Did you really want to drive five hours each way in one day?” Will questions. 

 

“No,” she agrees. “But I’m also not really interested in staring at leaves for the weekend.”

 

“There’s more than leaves!” Will instists. 

 

Sure there is. 

 

“Leaves  _ and _ twigs then,” Jules rolls her eyes. “Whatever. There’s more than all that nature crap, right?”

 

“You do get that you aren’t roughing it, right?” Will asks. “This isn’t camping. You have a bed-”

 

“That I’m sharing with Ellie!” Jules protests.

 

“-and bathrooms and a kitchen and a television and wifi,” Will continues as if she hadn’t spoken at all. 

 

“It’s the middle of nowhere,” Jules points out. 

 

“Some people would see that as an upside,” Will tells her.

 

“Crazy people!” Jules counters. “I bet you can’t even get Thai food up there. And, really Will, the only animal life I’d like to be seeing is my dog.”

 

“The back seat would’ve been too crowded,” Will reminds her. 

 

“I understand,” Jules nods. “And I agree, which is why Mom is playing dog-sitter for the weekend. But  _ Will _ … Some of us were not made for the wilderness.”

 

“No,” Nate agrees glumly. “Some of us were not. Some of us weren’t made for the back seat either. I’m taller than Jules. Why did she get shotgun?”

 

“I called it first,” Jules points out, because this is obvious. 

 

“Then I call it first for the way back,” Nate claims. 

 

“It doesn’t work that way,” Jules scoffs. 

 

“Says who?” Nate demands. 

 

“Says everyone?” Jules replies.

 

“You know she’s right, Nate,” Will tells him. 

 

“Of course you take her side,” Nate sighs. 

 

“I often do that when she’s right,” Will tells him. “Which she is.”

 

“It’s just that I happen to be right most of the time,” Jules replies. “Try not to take it personally.”

 

Nate rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but Jules is distracted from her baby brother because Ellie’s been conspicuously quiet through all of this, staring at her phone as she chews her lip. 

 

There’s really only one thing that can mean. 

 

“How’s Sara doing?” Jules asks. 

 

Ellie’s head snaps up at that, finding all three of her siblings looking at her. She flushes and holds her phone a little closer to her chest. 

 

Busted.

 

“I have no idea,” she insists. “I’m not talking with her right now.”

 

“Sure you aren’t,” Jules scoffs.

 

“I’m not!” Ellie says again. 

 

“She’s looking at her Instagram, though,” Nate informs them, craning his neck to see Ellie’s phone.

 

“Hey!” Ellie protests. “Mind your own business, Nate.”

 

“I am two feet from you,” Nate points out. “You probably shouldn’t do anything on your phone right now that you don’t want me seeing.”

 

“Don’t make me unmatch all your socks again,” Ellie threatens.

 

“That was just mean,” Nate tells her. “Do you know how long it took to fix that?”

 

“Nate, focus,” Jules insists, snapping her fingers at him. “Socks don’t matter right now.”

 

“That’s because you didn’t have to rematch all of yours!” Nate replies.

 

“They’re socks, Nate,” Jules deadpans. “Let’s pretend I match them in the first place.  _ Now _ … what is our darling sister scrolling through? Is this just well-practiced self-torture or what?” 

 

“New shots,” Nate replies. “Sara with another girl.”

 

“They’re ‘friends,’” Ellie gives up, dropping her phone onto her lap. “They’re friends and I was hoping this girl was really ugly because I’m petty, okay? But she’s not. She looks like a supermodel. And she and Sara standing next to each other all  _ friendly  _ looks painfully right, so I’m wallowing.”

 

“Are you talking about Marcella?” Will asks, looking back at Ellie. 

 

“You know her?” Ellie asks, suddenly paying a whole lot more attention to her brother. “Is she awful? Tell me she picks her teeth during meals and sings off key.”

 

“Wow. You weren’t kidding with the petty part, were you?” Will asks. 

 

“Will!” Ellie insists, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “Sara is having a ‘just-friends’ date with one of the hottest women I’ve ever seen and I need to know she has some serious flaws. Help me out!”

 

“She doesn’t pick her teeth during meals,” Will tells her. “But you can stop worrying about anything happening between her and Sara. She’s straight, but Sara wouldn’t start anything with her anyhow. Not like that.”

 

“Like she’d tell you that?” Ellie scoffs disbelievingly. 

 

“She… did,” Will counters with a strained voice and a suddenly tense look on his face.

 

“Why would she do that?” Ellie challenges. “How does that even come up? Do you guys chat about girls now?”

 

Will pauses and winces, leaving Jules staring at him curiously as she tries to work out what’s going on in his head. For once, she’s got nothing. 

 

“Do you not have an answer?” Ellie demands. 

 

“I do,” Will says slowly, dragging out the words as if they’re heavy on his tongue. “I just had not anticipated the conversation taking this turn and I’m trying to figure out how to word my answer for my little sister.”

 

That’s when things click in Jules’ head and she finds herself shaking her head at her brother as she laughs at him. “You are unbelievable. Do you know that?”

 

He cringes and gives her a look, fully confirming her suspicions. 

 

“Care to share with those of us who don’t share a psychic connection?” Ellie asks, still sounding unsettled. 

 

“Their team’s got a rule,” Jules says, looking at Ellie pointedly. “About dating…”

 

She’d expected Nate to be clueless at that, but she’d sort of hoped Ellie would put it together. Her blank-faced look of desperation says otherwise, though. 

 

Jules sighs exasperatedly. 

 

“Exes are firmly off limits,” Jules tells Ellie slowly. “And our darling brother has probably put a solid chunk of Starling’s 20-and-30-something population into the hands-off list for his co-workers by now. Including supermodel impersonator Marcella.”

 

“I’m not that bad,” Will counters uncomfortably. 

 

“Okay then,” Jules scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

 

“I’m not,” Will insists. He honestly sounds bothered right now and Jules doesn’t know what to do with that because this is Will and he’s a bit of a cad. That’s never even been in question and he’s never really taken offense to it before.

 

But he definitely is now.

 

“Look, yes, I was involved with Marcella briefly late last year, but I’m not… I’m not looking for someone to just mess around with. Not anymore,” he says. 

 

His hands are tight on the steering wheel and his eyes are fixed on the road. Jules finds herself studying him, trying to sort out what she’s seeing in her brother right now, but she’s got nothing. 

 

“Since when?” she asks. 

 

“Since about two weeks ago,” he mutters, swallowing hard. His eyes dart briefly to her. She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on with him, but it’s clearly something. There’s a seriousness about him that she’s not used to, a maturity and a little sorrow that she doesn’t understand. “We should talk,” he adds. “Later. When we get there.”

 

“Okay,” Jules agrees. “You’ve got it.”

 

The somber air doesn’t dissipate, though, and Jules finds herself deeply curious about what the hell is going on with her big brother. 

 

“Hey, can we make a stop soon?” Nate asks. “I need to use the restroom.”

 

“Sure,” Will says, a bit of his usual levity working its way back into his voice. “Maple or pine?”

 

“What?” Nate questions in deep confusion. 

 

“Maple or pine?” Will repeats. “You got a preference?”

 

Nate pales as Jules’ grin grows. 

 

“Are you telling me I have to pee on a tree?” he demands.

 

“Do you see a rest stop?” Will asks. “Because I don’t.”

 

“I can wait a bit,” Nate counters. 

 

“Next place is a gas station about forty-five miles away,” Ellie chimes in. “How long is ‘a little bit?’”

 

Nate whines and bounces a little in his seat. He looks ten years younger for a moment. 

 

“I hate nature,” he grumbles. “How is there not a campground or a Starbucks or  _ something _ for nearly an hour?”

 

“Just be glad you aren’t a girl,” Ellie advises. 

 

“On her period,” Jules adds.

 

The face Nate pulls is truly hilarious, but Ellie and Jules are too busy nodding at each other in solidarity to take much note. 

 

“Won’t be the first time you’ve peed on a tree, kid,” Will reminds him, pulling off onto the shoulder of the rarely-traveled state road. They haven’t even seen another car in at least twenty minutes now. “Hop to it.”

 

Annoyance is readily visible on Nate’s face, but he also doesn’t have much of a choice. And it’s likely that his sisters snickering at him give him an added incentive to head off a few paces into the woods. 

 

“Watch out for bears!” Jules shouts out after him, with what she thinks is really a very helpful piece of advice.

 

He stops and looks back at her with total exasperation before muttering to himself and heading into the trees. 

 

“Bears?” Will asks, amusement coloring his voice. 

 

“I like to keep him on his toes,” Jules shrugs. “Now Ellie, let’s see this super hot friend of Sara’s who also happens to be Will’s ex-whatever. I want a visual.”

 

“Jules…” Will groans, looking up toward the roof of his car as if he might find his additional patience there. 

 

“Allow me the simple joys of life, Will,” Jules responds primly. “Hand it over, Ellie. Let’s see.”

 

While she will undoubtedly regret it later, Ellie hands over her phone and Jules finds herself sifting through Sara’s Instagram feed. Marcella is exactly as pretty as advertised and Jules looks up to Will with her eyebrows raised in question. 

 

“She looks like this and  _ doesn’t _ pick her teeth at the table?” Jules asks. “Why the hell did you break things off?”

 

Will shifts under her scrutiny, which is sorta fun if you’re Jules. 

 

“It was never anything serious,” Will says defensively. “And there weren’t any hard feelings. It just fizzled, that’s all.”

 

“Hmm,” Jules mulls skeptically. 

 

She gets casual relationships, understands one-night-stands and short-term flings. They have their place. But the thing with Will is that none of his relationships ever seem to have been like that. He’s always been personal with the women he’s dated, open and involved and honestly interested in getting to know them. 

 

He just also seems to back out when emotion comes into play.

 

While she doesn’t know for sure, of course, Jules suspects that her older brother has broken a lot of girls’ hearts, even if that was never his intent. And she finds herself wondering, not for the first time, if his hesitancy in forging a real, lasting relationship goes back to losing his mom, his brutal breakup with Allison all those years ago, or the relationship-that-never-was with Amelia. 

 

Maybe all of those. Maybe none of them. 

 

But, as fun as it is to make Nate squirm over things like peeing on a tree, Jules is a whole lot less entertained by making Will uncomfortable about something he’s obviously taking more seriously than she’d expected. There’s something going on with him and she’s deeply curious about what that might be, but she’s also not going to push him to talk halfway through a five hour car ride with all four of them trapped in his SUV.

 

So she switches targets for her amusement. 

 

“What are you doing with my phone?” Ellie asks as Jules settles in and closes Instagram, scrolling through her sister’s apps. 

 

“Just looking at what the town near the cabin has to offer,” Jules replies sweetly. 

 

“Use your own phone,” Ellie instructs, her tone firm and anxious. 

 

Her nerves are well-founded. 

 

“ _ Hello _ ,” Jules grins, turning the phone to show Ellie. “Yay or nay? I think she’s cute, but it’s not like my opinion really matters here.”

 

All of the color drains from Ellie’s face. “Are you on my Tinder?” she demands. 

 

“You’re on Tinder?” Will asks in horror, turning around fully to face his sister. 

 

“That’s not the point,” Ellie squeaks. 

 

“It is absolutely  _ my _ point,” Will counters. 

 

“Don’t be such a hypocritical prude,” Jules scoffs, dismissing Will entirely and honing in on Ellie. “So, swipe right? She’s fifteen minutes from the cabin and she does yoga, probably very flexible. That’s always a plus.”

 

“Oh my God,” Will breathes out, looking every bit as mortified as Ellie. 

 

“Give me back my phone,” Ellie demands as Nate opens the car door and scoots back into his seat. 

 

“Is yours dead?” he asks. “You can use mine, if you need to.”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Will and Ellie shout in unison, startling Nate. He pauses mid-reach for his travel bag. 

 

“Just… Just do not offer her your phone,” Will counsels. “How the hell have you two not learned that yet?” 

 

“Why?” Nate asks, pausing as he grabs some hand sanitizer. “What’s she gonna do with it?”

 

“Swipe right, apparently,” Ellie replies, locking eyes with Jules and holding out her hand for her phone. “Give it back.”

 

“You’re no fun at all,” Jules declares, handing the phone back. 

 

“What are you talking about?” Nate asks.

 

“...Tinder?” Ellie replies slowly. 

 

“Oh,” Nate says, looking about as uncomfortable as Jules can remember. “I don’t… do that.”

 

“No kidding,” Ellie replies blankly. 

 

“That’s fine, Nate,” Will chimes in. “You’re a high schooler. You should be like… asking out a girl in your French class or something.”

 

Nate grimaces. “That has not worked out well, in my experience.”

 

Jules is just about to poke for more information at  _ that _ little revelation when Ellie interrupts, yelping loudly. 

 

“Did you actually swipe right? Oh my God, Jules!” she protests. 

 

“You’re welcome,” Jules tells her with a one-shouldered shrug. She’s really not sorry at all. 

 

Ellie makes a desperate noise as Will starts the car up again and they head back down the road toward the cabin. 

 

“Look, I know you love Sara.  _ Everyone  _ knows you love Sara,” Jules continues. “Gossip blogs know. They’re calling you two Elara. You’ve been name-squished, Ellie. You have your own portmanteau.”

 

“What were you doing reading gossip blogs?” WIll asks with a short laugh. 

 

“I wasn’t,” Jules defends. “My employee Martin is a gossip hound and there was a slow day at the gallery.” She looks back to Ellie. “He ships it, by the way.” 

 

“Jules!” Ellie protests, gesturing emphatically. 

 

“It’s very sweet,” Jules tells her. “We all approve. Even Will and you know how he gets.”

 

“Hey!” Will says.

 

“It’s true, you caveman. You get all  _ ‘grr stay away from my sisters’  _ and it can get super old super fast,” Jules reminds him. “But Sara passes muster with you, which is something of a minor miracle.  _ Anyhow _ , my point is that sitting around making doe-eyes at her for years on end hasn’t gotten any kind of fulfillment of that friends-to-lovers trope so maybe it’s time to mix things up.”

 

“By hooking up with some girl on Tinder?” Ellie asks, utterly aghast. “How does that help?”

 

“Uh, jealousy?” Jules suggests. “Post some cute shots with a cute girl on Instagram and give her a taste of what she’s put you through.”

 

“I’m not doing that!” Ellie protests. “That’s a bad plan. That’s the  _ worst _ plan. I veto that plan. I don’t even want her to be jealous. Our friendship is more important than whatever else we could be. It’s not worth risking.”

 

“God, you’re parroting her now, aren’t you?” Jules sighs. “Ellie, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret here. You can  _ be both _ . Friends make the best lovers. Don’t get me wrong, a good old  _ wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am _ is great if you don’t want your heart in the mix, but if you do then that’s another story entirely.”

 

“Why are we having this conversation?” Will asks uncomfortably. 

 

“I don’t know, but now I’m sorry that  _ I _ didn’t bring ear plugs and it’s not because of the music,” Nate says. “How far are we from the cabin?”

 

“Just under three hours. And if you start asking  _ ‘Are we there yet? _ ’ every five minutes, I’m leaving you on the side of the road,” Will threatens.

 

“If Jules keeps talking about lovers that might be preferable,” Nate grumbles. Will tilts his head as he considers his brother’s words. Jules is pretty sure he doesn’t disagree. 

 

“We could talk about the girl in your French class that you’re hoping I don’t bring up, if you’d like,” Jules suggests. “Would that be better?” 

 

“I take it back,” Nate says. “Go back to giving Ellie a hard time about Sara.” 

 

Well  _ that’s _ enough to encourage Jules to press for more. Really, he should know better by now. Will makes a pained noise and shakes his head at the road. 

 

“Did she turn you down?” Jules asks. “I am more than game to have a pointed conversation with your buddies about how to be good wingmen, but honestly any girl who’d turn you down for a date in the first place is an idiot and you deserve better.”

 

“I think that was a compliment, so thank you,” Nate tells her. His voice makes it sound like a question, though. 

 

“You’re welcome,” Jules replies. “Now, do we need to make a plan to get French class girl to say yes or have you accepted that she’s inferior and unworthy of your time.”

 

“God, you’re in a mood today,” Ellie mutters. 

 

“I’m fun on car trips,” Jules advises her, before looking back to Nate. “What do you say?”

 

He visibly hems and haws over how to answer for a moment before hefting a big sigh. 

 

“She didn’t exactly turn me down,” Nate admits. 

 

“She didn’t?” Jules asks, more than a little stunned. She’s not the only one. Ellie and Will’s eyes both snap to Nate, too. 

 

“No,” Nate allows. 

 

“You’re gonna need to dish a whole lot more than that,” Ellie informs him. 

 

“She just didn’t turn out to be who I thought she was,” he mutters, looking out the window. “That’s all.”

 

Suspicion nags at Jules at both her brother’s words and his demeanor and a rush of defensiveness slices right through her. 

 

“How?” Jules demands, her voice taking on a dark edge. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nate tells her. 

 

“Nathaniel…” she says warningly. “How is it that she didn’t turn out who you thought she was? Do I need to bug Carlos and Matt about this?”

 

“No,” Nate says in a rush, his eyes widening at her words. “No, no… you don’t need to do that.”

 

“Then talk,” Jules insists. 

 

“She just… she was more interested in my last name than me,” he admits.

 

Suddenly, Jules is quite pissed on her little brother’s behalf. It was years ago, but she’s been in those shoes and she remembers quite clearly how it feels to be taken advantage of thanks to her family name. 

 

But then Miles had always been a jackass. It had just taken her a while and some perspective to realize that. 

 

“I’m gonna need a name,” she says darkly. 

 

“You do not,” Will counters firmly. “You are not going to go all Tempest on a short-sighted teenage gold-digger.”

 

“Or… I am going to do exactly that,” Jules rebutts with an overly polite, saccharine smile. 

 

“It was last Fall,” Nate counters. “It’s fine. I appreciate the backup, but I’d prefer you not go after my classmates with a chain whip.”

 

“Fine,” Jules pouts grudgingly. “But if this happens again, come to me sooner. I have more tools than a chain whip, you know.”

 

“None of them are less terrifying,” Nate tells her. 

 

“Thanks!” Jules said with a bright, face-splitting smile.

 

“That wasn’t a compliment...” Nate tells her, letting his voice trail off as he stares at her as though she might be crazy. 

 

“It definitely was,” Jules counters before moving on. “I’m hungry. Give up the goods, Nate.”

 

He folds his arms and narrows his eyes at her. Nate’s never been one to part with food easily.

 

“What makes you think I brought any?” he challenges. 

 

“You’re you,” she counters with a disbelieving laugh. “Obviously you have food. I’d prefer trail mix, but I’ll settle for candy if that’s all you’ve got.”

 

“I’m not a pantry,” he replies, an aloof air settling over him. “If you wanted food, you should have brought some.”

 

She snorts. “Why would I do that when I know you’ll have plenty? Hand over the munchies before I start singing ‘99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.’”

 

Nate fixes her with a narrow-eyed stare. “You wouldn’t.”

 

“She definitely would,” Will corrects him. He seems worried, which is well-founded. For all of Jules’ love of music, she’s not much of a singer. “Just share whatever you brought with her, would you? Save all our ears.”

 

“ _ Rude _ ,” Jules announces. “But also I agree.”

 

“How are you so much of a pain in the ass on car trips?” Ellie asks in bewilderment as Nate grumbles and digs through his bag for snacks he’s willing to part with. 

 

Jules winds up with a protein bar in hand, which is not at all what she wanted but she makes do. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she retorts as she unwraps the snack and takes a bite. “I’m delightful… Anyone bring anything to drink?”

 

“ _ Here _ ,” Nate says, thrusting a bottle of water at her. “I’m taking a nap.”

 

“Sounds like the music has to go, then,” Jules says, twisting off the cap and chugging some water as she looks triumphantly at Ellie. “Ah,” she says as she pulls the bottle away from her mouth and swipes at her lips with her sleeve. “No more Top 40, Ellie. Sorry.”

 

Ellie huffs in annoyance, but Nate’s pulling a neatly folded blanket from his bag - because he’s ridiculous and obviously has such things at any moment - so he clearly intends to actually sleep. With a grumble, Ellie reaches for a pair of earbuds and plugs them in, silencing the music in the car. 

 

The sigh of relief Jules lets out is probably a little over-the-top dramatic, but she’s feeling a rare moment of triumph, so she’s not sorry at all. 

 

It’s not more than five minutes before Nate’s snoring softly with his head resting against the window. 

 

Typical. 

 

“Got a Sharpie?” Jules asks Will with a wicked grin.

 

“You’re not drawing on his face,” Will informs her. 

 

“...Because we don’t have a Sharpie?” 

 

“Because it’s wrong,” Will tells her firmly. He pauses and licks his lips before tilting his head and adding, “And because we don’t have a Sharpie.”

 

“We really shouldn’t be left in charge of anything, should we?” Jules mulls. She’s kidding, her tone lofty, but Will barely huffs a quiet laugh. 

 

“Sometimes we do okay,” he counters. The somber line of his lips and the slight droop of his shoulders speaks volumes about where his head’s at and it’s slowly eating Jules alive that she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her brother. 

 

“What’s with you? Are you really okay?” she asks softly, her voice dipping low enough that she’s relatively confident it won’t draw Ellie’s attention from her music or wake Nate. “For real?”

 

It takes him a moment to respond, something that only makes her more concerned. And when he speaks, it’s not exactly the answer she was hoping for. 

 

“It just gets old sometimes,” he confides. Even from behind the sunglasses, he looks distant, lost in his thoughts. “Being someone people don’t take seriously. Someone they think they can’t rely on.”

 

Jules’ brow furrow up as she watches her brother cautiously. “Who the fuck thinks they can’t rely on you?” she demands. “I’ll fight them.”

 

That earns a laugh and a grateful glance, but she’s stone-cold serious. 

 

“I mean it,” she continues. “If I called you and said ‘Will, I need you here right now’ and hung up, you’d be on my doorstep inside ten minutes no matter what you were doing. I know that. I’ve always known that. You’re about the  _ most _ reliable person in my life.”

 

“There’s Dad and Felicity,” he points out.

 

“Which is why I said  _ about _ the most reliable,” she insists. “Is there  _ any _ circumstance -  _ any _ \- where you wouldn’t drop whatever you were doing for me or Ellie or Nate or Beth if we needed you? Because I don’t think there is. I think you’re the best big brother anyone could ask for and I wanna beat the shit out of whoever made you question that.”

 

“It’s not about being a brother, Jules,” he counters, swallowing heavily. “I know I’m a good brother.”

 

“So, a girl, then,” Jules deduces. “What does it matter? Obviously she’s not worth your time if she thinks you aren’t serious enough and you’re unreliable. Move on.”

 

“You don’t get it,” Will laughs shortly, shaking his head. “ _ I  _ don’t think I’m serious enough, Jules. And maybe I want someone to think I’m reliable other than you.”

 

She’s not sure what to do with that, so she watches him and waits for him to continue. He will. She knows him well enough to know that. 

 

“I’m thirty, you know?” he asks, tapping his forefinger against the steering wheel as he talks. “I’m thirty and the only serious relationship I had was with Allison in  _ college _ . And she left me because she thought I was being immature-”

 

“ _ She _ left you because she was an idiot who looked at firefighting as a step down from pro-ball,” Jules reminds him. “Just because she didn’t respect your career doesn’t mean there’s a problem with it. There isn’t. She’s a moron and I’m glad you broke up.”

 

“Tell me how you really feel, Jules,” he says dryly. 

 

“I’m not big on tact,” she reminds him. “Especially with you.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not just Allison,” Will points out. “Look at what happened with Amelia.”

 

There’s not a doubt in Jules’ mind that this is a big part of what’s really bothering Will. He’s long since given up on the statuesque brunette, but Jules strongly suspects she’ll always be his ‘ _ Road Not Taken’  _ in life. A big part of her blames Amelia for that - anyone who doesn’t immediately see what an amazing guy Will is doesn’t get much respect from Jules - but she knows her big brother bears a sizable bit of blame for everything going off the rails with her, too. 

 

“You were jealous and drunk and kinda dumb,” Jules admits. “That’s a bad combo.”

 

“Yeah,” Will agrees softly.

 

“Is this about her, then?” Jules asks, fishing for information. “Because if it is-”

 

“It’s not,” he interrupts. “It’s about someone else.”

 

“Someone important to you?” she asks. 

 

He thinks about that for a moment, sighing before replying. “She could’ve been. She could’ve been really important.”

 

“Dodged a bullet then, if she doesn’t think your reliable,” Jules announces, confidence rolling off her as she holds her chin up high. “Her loss.”

 

“Maybe,” Will hedges. It’s the kind of agreement that really isn’t, the sort of thing someone says when they just want the conversation to end. But this is more of a pause button than a full stop, Jules knows that. He’ll talk to her more later, when they aren’t stuck in the middle of a five hour road trip with their younger siblings. 

 

“You ever been up here before?” she asks, resting her feet on the dash and crossing her legs at the ankles. 

 

“Put them down,” Will orders, pointing at her shoes. “You’ll break both of your legs if we’re in an accident.”

 

“God, I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re not serious,” Jules groans, pulling her feet down. “Clearly they’ve never been on a road trip with you.”

 

“No,” he says. 

 

“They  _ have _ been on a road trip with you?” she asks in surprise.

 

“Of course not,” Will scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I meant I’ve never been to Aunt Thea and Uncle Roy’s cabin.”

 

“Why now, then?” Jules questions. “It’s a nice idea,” she clarifies. “Putting together some scraps of their happier memories into a memento collection for Uncle Roy is something he’ll really appreciate, but why now?”

 

“Their anniversary is this month. It would’ve been their nineteenth,” Will reminds her. “You probably don’t remember their wedding, but I was almost twelve when they got married. I’ll never forget the look on Uncle Roy’s face when he saw Aunt Thea walking down the aisle toward him, the way everything he felt about her was written all over his face. Even as a kid that felt important to me. He loved her so much. I guess I just want him to remember that part when their anniversary hits this year, instead of just how it felt to lose her.”

 

A knot tightens in Jules’ throat and a stone sinks her gut. This is a far more sobering conversation than she’d expected and she wasn’t fully prepared for it. She’s not sure she  _ could _ be prepared for it. 

 

“He’ll appreciate it,” she manages after a minute, even if her voice comes out strained and choppy. “I miss her, too. Losing people you love sucks.”

 

She stares out at the long stretch of empty road in front of them, but she doesn’t see it at all. She doesn’t see  _ anything _ . Will’s gaze burns her skin, though, and the muscles of her jaw tighten reflexively as she endures his scrutiny. 

 

“If you wanna talk about-” he starts.

 

“Nope,” she cuts him off, inhaling deeply and letting out a long, slow exhale before forcing a smile that no one would believe. “I’m good,” she nods at him. “I’m glad we’re doing this for Uncle Roy. And Dad. And us. She deserves to be remembered and if we can give Uncle Roy some reminders of their better days together, I think that’s the best gift we could give him… something to hold onto.”

 

“Good,” Will nods, searching her face and smiling back softly. Apparently he’s deemed her answer acceptable. “Good. Let’s do this, then.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Let’s do it… Are we there yet?” 

 

He groans and rolls his eyes, but the last half of the drive slips away quickly as they trade stories of Aunt Thea, reliving the best memories they have of their only aunt. 

 


	23. December 2044

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate's never had to take care of a baby on his own... or at all, really. But when Team Arrow is called to duty, he finds himself watching over his four-month-old niece without any backup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definite spoilers for who Jules marries. If you haven't read what's been posted of Tempest, probably don't read this yet (unless you want to be spoiled). This was by popular request. ENJOY.

**December 2044**

 

Later, it will be a testament to how distracted Nate is by grad school that he hadn’t realized this would happen sooner or later. But, in the moment, he’s more than a little stunned when everything plays out.

 

Sunday family dinners are a mainstay in the Queen household, even though neither Nate nor any of his siblings live at home anymore. They still all descend on the ivy-covered, brick brownstone of their childhood every weekend. The sense of _home_ is always overwhelming the moment he walks in the door. Ellie’s laughter rings out loudly and the aroma of his dad’s cooking fills the air and Jules’ low, snarky tone drifts through the living room, even if he can’t exactly make out her words. It’s a touchstone, a call-back to childhood with a strong sense of unity and belonging. And, no matter what else is happening, Nate always chooses to be here on Sunday nights.

 

They all do.

 

Something about that makes it more special, knowing all of them go out of their way every week to spend time together, even when so many people in the family spend their nights fighting at each other’s sides. This isn’t about that. Oh, they still train in self-defense after dinner. With their lives, that’s a necessity, even for Nate. But there’s no mistaking that Sunday dinners are first and foremost about family.

 

Tonight, Will and Alex are both on duty and Amelia is out of town on business, but Nate gets to his parents’ home to find Ellie, Jules, and baby Sylvia are already there. His niece isn’t crawling yet - she’s only four months - but she’s just started to explore the world of solid foods. Nate’s not at all surprised when he ventures into the kitchen and finds her in her highchair with avocado smeared all over her face and an enormous toothless smile.

 

She makes an indiscernible noise of excitement when she sees him and holds up thoroughly mushed fistful of avocado, showing it off.

 

“I see,” Nate tells her, earning everyone else’s attention from where they’re chattering away near the stove. “Very yummy looking snack you’ve got there, Sylvie.”

 

“Speaking of her food, I’ve gotta go pump before my boobs explode,” Jules announces, pushing off the kitchen counter.

 

The mental imagery of that is enough to make Nate wince. Of course, that was probably his sister’s motivation in the first place.

 

She grins and squeezes his shoulder as she breezes out of the room, promising Sylvia she’ll be right back and Nana will take good care of her in the meantime as she goes.

 

That’s not enough for Sylvie, though. The four-month-old lasts just shy of a minute before she realizes her mother is not immediately returning to the room, at which point she breaks out in an ear-splitting wail.

 

Surely the world is ending. There can be no other explanation for the unearthly cry coming from his niece.

 

“Pick her up!” his mother instructs, gesturing toward the hysterical baby as she talks to everyone in the room. “My hands are covered in raw meat.”

 

Oliver’s no better, but he’s washing his hands in the sink in a rush to calm his granddaughter even as he gives both Nate and Ellie a pointed look.

 

Oh… right.

 

Nate isn’t even sure how to hold an infant but he moves toward the messy, hysterical baby anyhow. Ellie is faster, though. Thankfully, she’s got Sylvia unstrapped and in her arms before Nate can get there. It doesn’t do much good, though. Sylvia’s cries don’t lessen at all. She arches her back, throwing herself backward in dramatic fashion as she wails.

 

Thank goodness Ellie’s got vigilante training. She keeps ahold of the baby, but it leaves Nate wondering how most parents manage not to drop their hysterical infants. It seems like being a parent requires superpowers.

 

“Hand her to me,” Oliver insists, reaching out for his granddaughter. Ellie complies, her expression relieved and grateful and her shirt covered in green, goopy avocado residue. Fifteen seconds of holding Sylvia and she’s already a mess. It’s incredible how fast that happens, like just being in the vicinity of a baby means you need an immediate shower and change of clothes.

 

Oliver doesn’t care about that at all, though. He holds his granddaughter close, cupping the back of her head gently as he makes low noises in her ear and bounces her slightly. Her sobs marginally improve right away - Grandpa is preferable to Aunt Ellie, it seems… at least for today - but they don’t go away completely for a few more minutes. And it’s only when they do that Nate realizes his father hadn’t been talking to Sylvia and he hadn’t been hushing her.

 

No, he’d been singing.

 

“ _Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter… Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here…_ "

 

Felicity must have realized this at the same moment because the fork she’d been holding clatters to the countertop and she inhales sharply as she presses the back of her hand to her mouth. Even from halfway across the kitchen, Nate can see her eyes watering.

 

“Are you okay, Mom?” he asks, taking a step toward her and reaching out toward her elbow. She nods firmly, but her eyes don’t stop flooding with tears. He doesn’t exactly believe she’s alright, but he lets his hand drop and he watches her cautiously.

 

“Just the onions,” she protests.

 

“You haven’t cut them yet,” Ellie points out.

 

“Oh…” Felicity says, sniffling as she looks back to the counter. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just… It’s nothing.”

 

“I used to sing that to Jules when she was a baby,” Oliver offers, his voice gentle and his eyes smiling as he looks at his wife. “And you two, too. But mostly Jules. She liked it a lot when she was a newborn. It usually calmed her down.”

 

“Sylvia seems to like it, too,” Ellie notes, tilting her head toward the still-sniffling baby whose cries have finally quieted. She heaves a sigh that seems too big for someone so small and stares longingly at the doorway her mother disappeared through, but allows her head to pillow against her grandfather’s shoulder.

 

“Like mother, like daughter,” Oliver confirms, kissing the baby atop her dark mop of hair. “She’ll be fine. Separation can be hard at this age. How is she supposed to know when her mom will be back? It’s very normal for her to be upset.” Sylvia punctuates his words with a mournful sniffle. “Means she loves her momma.”

 

But like that, the ear-splitting screams actually seem kind of sweet, when Nate thinks about it. It’s still strange thinking of his big sister as a mother. Sooner or later, it’ll probably seem normal, but for now, part of Nate’s still waiting for everyone to start laughing and tell him it was all a joke.

 

“ _Sheesh_ , you’d think someone was upset or something,” Jules says, striding back into the room. Sylvia gives out a delighted shriek at her mother’s appearance and Jules chuckles at the little girl, shaking her head with blatant affection. “Give me a second, Sylvie. Just gotta toss my boob juice in the fridge.”

 

“Could you not call it that?” Nate asks, wincing at the description.

 

“Yeah,” Jules says dryly. “Cause the wording is the gross part, not the addition of a bodily function that leaks at the most inconvenient times.”

 

“That’s the real reason she hasn’t been out as Tempest again, yet,” Ellie decides as she washes avocado mush from her arm. “Leaky boobs while vigilanting could be a problem.”

 

“Cute,” Jules sasses, taking Sylvia from Oliver. The baby reaches for her immediately and presses her open mouth to her mother’s cheek. “Oh, thank you for kisses, Sylvie! Very sweet,” Jules tells her loudly smacking her lips against the baby’s cheek in turn.

 

“When are you thinking you’ll get back out there?” Oliver asks, washing his hands again and returning to dinner prep with his wife. “You shouldn’t come back before you’re ready, but I know the others miss you in the field.”

 

“I’m ready now,” Jules tells him. “If I can zipper the suit up, that is.”

 

“You’ve lost the baby weight,” Ellie tells her.

 

“It’s not my stomach I’m worried about,” Jules replies, tilting her head down toward her chest.

 

“But they look good, though!” Ellie tells her, offering a thumbs up. “I bet Alex thinks so.”

 

That’s the tipping point for Nate. “Can we not talk about my sister’s…” Everyone turns to look at him, curious precisely how he’s going to finish his statement. “...assets.”

 

“ _Assets_ ?” Jules barks out a laugh. “They’re _boobs_ , Nate, not a stock portfolio.”

 

“I was trying to be polite,” he sighs.

 

“Boobs aren’t a curse word,” Jules informs him.

 

“They are when they’re your sister’s,” Nate replies.

 

Jules rolls her eyes so hard it looks like it hurts. “ _Please_ ,” she protests, talking over the noise as Ellie’s cell phone rings. She doesn’t pay attention at all to her sister or the call. Neither does Nate, for that matter. At least at first. “Don’t you think that’s just a bit-”

 

“ _Where_ ,” Ellie demands into her phone, cutting off whatever Jules had been about to say. A serious air settles over her that makes it entirely clear this is Arrow business.

 

Oliver’s phone starts ringing, too. His brow furrows as he looks at his phone’s screen before answering. “Nicole? What’s going on?” he asks immediately. His chief of staff knows better than to interrupt Sunday dinners for anything less than a crisis.

 

That’s when Nate realizes this is going to be big.

 

“What? When?” Oliver demands. “...No, I’ll be at City Hall working the situation from here in fifteen minutes. Let Mayor Lance know I’m on my way. Get here when you can. I’ll have her people wrangle the media for the time being.”

 

“ _Eric_ we’ll be at the lair in ten minutes. Don’t do anything until we get there, okay?” Ellie asks. Felicity’s already turning off the stove and looking at her with guarded eyes. “Uncle Roy will be fine, Eric. He can take care of himself. Just give us ten minutes. I’m hanging up.”

 

“What’s-”

 

“We gotta go,” Ellie interupts her sister. “Now. Right now. Uncle Roy’s representing the foundation at a lobbying event with half the state legislature. Gunmen took everyone hostage seven minutes ago. Hope your boobs fit in your uniform because we’re gonna need Tempest.”

 

“And Overwatch,” Felicity adds. “Will, Alex, and Sara are all on duty. Oliver’s got to go be Governor. It’s up to us to save the day, girls.”

 

Jules nods sharply and holds Sylvia out toward Nate. “She’ll need a bottle in about two hours. Burp her and put her to bed right after. If she’s fussy, give her a bath to calm her down.”

 

“Wait… you want _me_ to watch her?” Nate asks. His eyes bug out and his voice squeaks as he takes hold of his niece and holds her at arm’s length like a bomb about to explode.

 

“I can’t exactly fight with her in a front carrier, can I?” Jules asks, grabbing her jacket from where she’d tossed it on the back of a kitchen chair. Oliver’s already rushing out the door behind her, barely pausing to kiss his wife on the cheek and promising to text her from the office. “You’ll be fine, Nate. If she cries she needs a fresh diaper, food, to burp, to be cuddled or to sleep. Or she’s mad about needing one of those things.”

 

“We gotta go,” Ellie urges. “Clock’s ticking.”

 

“Love you, sweet girl,” Jules tells her daughter, kissing her on the cheek. “Be good for Uncle Nate.” She looks up to her brother. “Text mom or Alex if you have questions.”

 

“But…” Nate starts, looking from Sylvia’s face back to Jules’ helplessly.

 

“Gotta run, Nate. Uncle Roy needs us,” she declares. “Bye-bye Sylvie. Bye-bye.”

 

Everyone leaves in a flurry of activity and suddenly it’s just Nate standing in the middle of the kitchen with Sylvia at arm’s length and a half-cooked dinner on the cooling stovetop.

 

It takes about thirty seconds before Sylvia starts screaming.

 

“Oh, no. No, no,” Nate hushes, forcing a smile at his niece. “It’s good. We’re good. Momma will be back. It’s Sylvie and Uncle Nate time, okay? We’ll be good.”

 

She pulls the same move she did with Ellie, bowing her back and throwing her head back so hard that Nate’s worried about her neck. Aren’t you supposed to support babies’ necks? Isn’t that supposed to be important?

 

Oh God, what if he breaks her? What if she winds up with some kind of permanent damage because he doesn’t know how to hold a baby when he’s not comfortably seated on a sofa?

 

Logically, he knows Jules would have warned him if that were a likelihood, but this is _his niece_ and he really doesn’t want to screw her up and his terror level is spiking pretty hard. Is it too soon to text his mom?

 

No… _No._ He can do this. Billions of people do this every day.

 

The ‘how’ part eludes him still a bit, but he decides right then and there that barring anything that seems like a real emergency, he is not calling for help. He is Nathaniel Thomas Queen and - by God - he can keep an infant alive for a few hours all on his own.

 

But it’s probably easier to do that while sitting.

 

He eases himself down to the floor and leans against the cabinet positioning Sylvia on his lap where he’s far more comfortable that he’s not about to drop her. She’s still in full-blown hysterics, though.

 

“Um… music,” he mutters to himself before taking a deep breath and nodding his head at the baby. “Right… _‘Here comes the sun… Here comes the sun… why don’t I know any more of the words… Here comes the sun…’_ Not gonna happen, huh?”

 

Admittedly, his singing voice isn’t the best, but it would be less of a kick to the ego if she didn’t look _more_ hysterical after his attempt.

 

“Maybe a song I actually know?” he suggests, desperation leaking through his voice. “‘ _Never mind, I'll find someone like you. I wish nothing but the best for you, too_ .’”   


She starts hiccuping she’s crying so hard.

 

“I don’t know anything by The Clash or by Selena,” he tells her. “I’m sorry. I don’t share your momma and papa’s music taste… Come on, kiddo. I promise I’m not so bad. I’m Uncle Nate, you know?”

 

Her whole face is red with a snotty nose and tears streaming down her pudgy little cheeks. She’s still coated in mushed up avocado and there’s drool hanging from her lip. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted to make anyone happy more than he’s ever wanted it right now.

 

“‘ _If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands,’_ ” he starts, smiling somewhat manically at her as he claps his hands together. “‘ _If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands… If you’re happy and you know it then your face will surely show it. If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands_.’”

 

She might be looking at him like he’s lost his mind, but at least she’s no longer actively wailing, so he counts that as a win. After they go a round of tapping your chin if you’re happy and wiggling your fingers if you’re happy and move on to patting your knees if you’re happy, she’s actually smiling and waving her hands about like she’s trying to copy him.

 

He’s honestly never felt such a sense of triumph in his entire life. He’s a baby whisperer, brilliant with infants. Now… if only he knew what to do next.

 

“Very good,” he tells her. “You’re very musical, you know that? Great sense of rhythm.”

 

She chews on her finger and falls sideways. It’s only because she’s perched between his legs that she doesn’t smack her head on the floor, so maybe patting himself on the back for his childcare skills was a little premature.

 

“Thank you for not getting a concussion,” he tells her. “If you want to see Uncle Nate panic, smacking your head on the floor is a good way to do that, but I’d really prefer you didn’t. If I break you, your momma will kill me… And I wouldn’t exactly be forgiving of myself either.”

 

Her huge eyes fix on him as she gnaws on a finger. She clearly doesn’t understand a word he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter. He has her attention anyhow.

 

“You’re pretty special, Sylvie,” he informs her, smoothing her hair away from her face. “Do you know that?”

 

She makes a noise in reply, probably because he said her name. He takes it as a prompt to continue.

 

“This whole family loves you,” he informs her, tapping the end of her nose. She tries to focus on his finger and winds up blinking in confusion instead. “So very much. Your momma and papa, Grandpa and Nana, Auntie Ellie and Uncle Will and me… Uncle Nate. You make all of us smile. You make us happy just by being you. I think that’s pretty amazing.”

 

She reaches for his nose, grabbing the end of it with her messy fingers. He just huffs a laugh at lets her tug, even if her little nails are like very tiny claws.

 

“That’s not going anywhere, you know,” he informs her. “It’s attached to me.”

 

She apparently realizes this and gives up on his nose in favor of his glasses.

 

“ _Hey_ ,” he says, laughing nervously. “Those are not a toy, Sylvie. Let’s give them back, please?”

 

She’s a fuzzy blur, but he manages to find her hands and work his glasses free from her slimy grip. He winces as he puts them back on, certain there will be avocado drool in his hair.

 

Oh, _whatever_. She’s four months old. He’s not going anywhere right now. If she wants to slime his glasses like something out of Ghostbusters, that’s fine as long as he can still see, he decides.

 

But she might be more comfortable if she were a bit cleaner.

 

“Should we wipe up this mess, Sylvia?” he asks, taking her hands and turning them over so her goop-covered palms are face up. “ _Yuck_ ,” he tells her. “Very yucky. Let’s wash your hands.”

 

And her face, while they’re at it.

 

Standing makes him nervous, but he manages it, tucking Sylvia close to his chest as he rises. She’s not throwing herself about anymore, so it’s considerably easier than before. Instead, she’s watching him closely and takes a moment to pat him on the cheek.

 

Her palm sticks. He tries very hard not to be grossed out by the idea of how disgusting his face probably is right now.

 

“Thank you, sweetie,” he tells her instead, kissing her forehead. She beams up at him with those wide, curious, trusting eyes and he melts a little on the inside.

 

He’s busy these days - grad school requires that - but he wants so badly for this little girl to love him, for her to look up to him and trust him and rely on him. He wants to be Uncle Nate, not just her mother’s brother, but a real presence in her life.

 

He’s just also not really sure how to accomplish that, especially with someone who’s pre-verbal.

 

“Let’s go get you a washcloth so we can clean that pretty face, okay?” he asks as they head to the hall bathroom. Stairs are inevitable. She’ll need a nap at some point and the nursery his parents had re-set-up in their granddaughter’s honor is in Jules’ old room, but he’s barely approaching comfortable with walking around holding her, so they can wait a bit.

 

When he grabs a washcloth and wets it with warm-but-not-hot water, she realizes what he’s doing and starts to fuss. So, he turns it into a game of peek-a-boo, first using the washcloth on his face - he needs it too, at this point - before changing to hers.

 

It’s a lackluster cleaning job and she keeps tearing the damp cloth away, but she’s a little cleaner after a few swipes of the washcloth and she’s giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world, so he’s pretty satisfied with the attempt. He distracts her by talking to her and keeping his eyes fixed on hers as he washes her hands. That works out better than expected because Sylvia is so keen to _listen_ , even if she doesn’t understand almost anything yet.

 

She will soon, he realizes. Give it a few months and she’ll start managing a few words and understanding even more. He’s not really sure when that starts, but it’s got to be coming up. He’s kind of looking forward to hearing what she has to say. Maybe that’s silly, but it’s true. He wants to know all her little thoughts, whether they’re about bubbles or Elmo or rainbows or avocados or _whatever._ He doesn’t care. He just wants to watch how her little mind works.

 

But for the moment, she’s a nearly-clean baby who sits unaided, but can’t crawl yet.

 

And he has no idea what to do with her.

 

She doesn’t need to be changed, isn’t hungry, isn’t tired… What does someone _do_ with a baby who doesn’t need anything?

 

“Should we go check out if Nana set up your playmat?” he asks, adjusting his hold on her. “Let’s do that.”

 

His mother’s office turned into a playroom that also happens to have a computer in it the moment she found out she was going to be a grandmother. It’s funny because Nate remembers his mom’s office being off-limits for playtime when he was little. But, she’s retired these days and he suspects that she’s less keen to run up and down the stairs now than she was twenty years ago.

 

Sure enough, when they get to his mom’s office, he finds Sylvia’s toys are set up all over the place. Most of them she’s too little for still, but the playmat is something he’s seen her use before. He sets her down atop a rainbow and sits cross-legged on the other side of the bright-but-simple toys hanging down in front of her.  

 

She bats immediately at a bright blue rattle shaped like a cloud and stares at it in awe as it makes noise and sways back and forth.

 

“That’s fun, huh?” he asks her, squeezing the sun with a smiling face dangling next to it. The thing squeaks like a dog toy and Sylvia grins at it with bright eyes and a wide, toothless smile. “You like seeing what it does. Look at you, just soaking it all in. You’re learning so much just sitting here, aren’t you?”

 

She makes a loud noise that could mean anything and grabs a textured lightning bolt, pulling it forward to chew on the end.

 

“Those little bumps on that thing probably feel good on your gums, huh?” he asks. “One of these days you’ll actually have a tooth.”

 

She grins around the lightning bolt, drool slipping down to her chin. He takes the edge of the playmat and wipes her mouth with it. She’s distracted by the motion, suddenly abandoning her chew toy to look at the bright colors on the cloth mat.

 

“That’s a lightning bolt there, too,” he tells her, pointing to part of the design before tugging a little on the slobbery toy she’d just released. “They look the same.”

 

Whether or not she understands him is deeply questionable, but he’s sort of enjoying telling her things anyhow, so he keeps going. “They’re both yellow. That’s their color. So is the sun here, see? Yellow.”

 

She reaches for the sun but misjudges the distance and winds up losing her balance, falling forward flat onto her tummy. He doesn’t see it coming and he’s not fast enough to stop her, but at least it’s soft. It still startles her, though, and she lies there with a shocked look on her face for a few seconds before the wailing starts.

 

“Shh… Shh, you’re okay,” he promises, scooping her up and patting her back. “You’re just scared. That wasn’t so bad. I promise you’re gonna be just fine, Sylvie.”

 

And he’s right. She _is_ scared. She’s so very little and everything is new to her still. How’s she supposed to know that she’ll be fine after falling down? One minute she felt in control of her body and the next she was face-planted against the floor.

 

“Oh, sweet girl, you’re okay,” he soothes her. “I know that was scary. It was, but Uncle Nate’s got you, okay? I’ve got you and I’ll keep you safe. You’re okay.”

 

Her sobbing slowly calms, but she dissolves into hiccups that end with a wet noise and a trail of something oozing its way down his back.

 

Nate holds his breath and pinches his eyes shut as he tries to come to terms with the idea that some mixture of thrown up avocado and his sister’s breast milk is currently dribbling down his shirt.

 

It’s disgusting. There’s no two ways about it. His niece is adorable, perfect, gorgeous. But the things that come out of her… oh dear lord.

 

Pushing back his gag reflex - because _wow_ does it smell - Nate forces a smile on his face and looks at Sylvia.

 

“So… next time you want to share food with me, maybe we try it _before_ you’ve eaten it, okay?” he asks. “I would’ve had a bite of avocado.”

 

He must be faking his smile well, because she grins at him. It’s sweet. Cute. Would be cuter without the trail of green goop dangling from her lip, though.

 

 _Ugh_.

 

It’s back to the bathroom with them after that. He brings the now-filthy playmat along with, tossing it in the laundry as long as they’re there. Sylvia has more clothing than probably anyone else on the planet and finding her a change of clothes is easy. He steals a shirt of his dad’s out of the dryer for himself, too, and sets about cleaning them up.

 

His sister must spend half of her day cleaning, he decides. Sylvia is wonderful, but she leaves a trail of disgusting things wherever she goes. He decides right then and there that if he ever has kids he will absolutely have a daily maid and laundry service. That just seems like good sense and a thoroughly understandable expense for a billionaire.

 

But for now, it’s just him and Sylvia. She’s a little fussy when he tries to get her into the clean onesie, so he figures he should check her diaper. Sure enough, it’s a mess. They’re already mid-clean-up though, so the timing could be worse.

 

He gags through her diaper change, wondering all the while if his sister has just lost her sense of smell entirely or if she nearly throws up several times a day as she changes her daughter’s diaper. How someone that little can create such a big stink, he has no idea. It seems in defiance of nature.  

 

She’s a bit more cooperative with the outfit change once she’s got a clean diaper, but she still screams bloody murder until he picks her up. And, in spite of the smiling bunny faces on her toes, she’s not in a good mood even once she’s being held.

 

“You’re clean. You just puked. We just played. So what do you need now?” he asks her. She whimpers and grabs a fistful of his shirt, sticking it in her mouth and sucking on it. “Are you _hungry_?” he asks, blinking at her. “You just spit up!”

 

She gives a whine, though, and makes a pathetic, pleading face that she’s far too young to be faking, so he figures she’s actually hungry.

 

Must be a growth spurt.

 

They head to the kitchen and he grabs a premade bottle from the fridge and tries handing it to her. Her face screws up and she wails again at the first touch to her lips, though. It’s only then that he remembers Jules warms it up first.

 

Right…

 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. We’ll get you fed.”

 

He scrambles for a pacifier, which distracts her exactly long enough to get her strapped into her high chair, but no longer. Warming the bottle seems like it takes _forever._ Is it warm enough? How warm is too warm? Will his ears bleed if she keeps crying at that pitch much longer? These are all questions in his head as he works.

 

Eventually, he gets the milk to lukewarm, testing it against the inside of his wrist like he’s seen his brother-in-law do a few times. It doesn’t burn him, so he figures it’s probably fine for her, too. She certainly seems to agree when he picks her back up from the high chair and puts the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

 

She calms immediately, sucking the milk down greedily, as though she’d been starving.

 

“I guess spitting up left lots of room in that belly, huh?” he asks her, shaking his head. “I really don’t know where you put it all, kiddo.”

 

She’s such a tiny thing, small even for her age, but Nate has no familiarity with babies at all and she seems delicate and fragile to his eyes.

 

“Told you I’d feed you, didn’t I?” he asks her. Those huge watery eyes of hers stare up at him as she sucks away on her milk. There’s so much trust in her gaze. She’s so little, so dependent on people and the way she looks up at him and makes him feel important, special. And to be important to _her_ … well, that is a pretty amazing feeling. “Let’s go sit down together.”

 

They head back to the office-turned-playroom and he settles in the rocking chair in the corner. Sure, he could’ve put her back in the highchair to eat, but that wasn’t going to happen with the way she’s looking at him adoringly. He’d rather hold her.

 

“I think we’re doing okay. How about you?” he asks her as he starts to rock back and forth a bit. She seems even smaller in this position, with her tiny body cradled in his arms as she pillows her head against his chest. “Maybe we can do this again sometime, me and you. I bet your momma and papa would like a night off now and then. How’s that sound?”

 

She grins around the bottle, that gummy smile of hers showing itself fully before she starts sucking away again. It’s lazier this time and he suspects she’s nowhere near as hungry as she thought.

 

“I’ll learn more songs for you,” he tells her. “I promise.”

 

She gurgles at that and drops the bottle entirely with a blissed-out look that Jules describes as a ‘milk coma.’

 

“You downed that pretty quickly. I bet you got some air with it, huh?” he asks, hoisting her up on his shoulder and reaching for a burp cloth from a pile in a nearby basket. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

 

He kisses her little shoulder before alternately rubbing small circles over her back and patting it. She’s content to lay her head on his shoulder, sighing softly against his neck. Freshly changed, she’s got that distinctive baby smell - the good kind - and he finds himself taking a deep breath and kissing her again as he rocks her back and forth, coaxing her to relax and let loose those little air bubbles trapped in her tummy.

 

For someone who has never burped a baby before in his life, Nate does a pretty good job. He gets a few solid belches out of her before she lifts her head up, clearly done with this.

 

“Feel better?” he asks her.

 

She grabs his chin with her tiny fingers and plants an open mouth against his cheek.

 

It takes him a second to realize what she’s doing.

 

“Did I get a kiss?” he asks, looking at those big brown eyes of hers. It might be silly how much that means to him, how giddy it makes him, but _oh_ it really does. She’s so innocent, so pure, and any affection from her is something that she means with her whole heart. “Thank you,” he tells her, not embarrassed in the least at how choked up he sounds.

 

She sighs and rests her head against his shoulder again, blinking in exaggeratedly slow motions and gripping his shirt with her fist. He keeps rocking as she gets heavier and heavier in his arms and soon enough she’s fast asleep with little puffs of breath ghosting across his neck.

 

His heart’s so full it feels like it could burst. She _likes_ him. She trusts him and she’s happy in his arms. What an amazing thing that is. What an incredible feeling. He’s not sure he’s ever been as overwhelmed with someone’s acceptance as he is with Sylvia’s.

 

The pack-and-play is just a few steps away. He could easily set her down and let her sleep there, but he finds he’s exactly where he wants to be and there’s nothing he’d rather do than rock his baby niece as she slumbers in his arms.

 

They’re still there when the others get back a few hours later. Nate’s fallen asleep too, by then, having shifted Sylvia so she’s resting against his chest. Both of them are smiling as they sleep. No one has the heart to wake either of them, but Jules does snap a picture. It winds up printed out and tacked to Sylvia’s mirror in her nursery, where it stays for years.

 

He’s a busy guy, her Uncle Nate. But there’s plenty of evidence in that picture of precisely how much she means to him. And, as she gets bigger, that’s not something that she’ll ever question.


	24. August 2041

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will takes eleven-year-old Beth back-to-school shopping and finds it's a little different now than it was a few years before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Spoilers for Tempest* ... at least there's a minor spoiler for who Jules winds up with. That's all, though. 
> 
> TW for (minor) references to the loss of a parent. 
> 
> Other than that... We needed some slightly lighter Will stuff, didn't we? Enjoy!
> 
>  **EDIT - IMPORTANT NOTE:** Due to big changes in the timeline for future events for Will and Amelia, this now has to be AU. I'm leaving it up, cause I sorta loved it, but it no longer fits. Such is the hazard of writing a million-plus words in non-chronological order.

**August 2041**

 

“...So then I said, of  _ course _ that’s a good idea because obviously anybody who knows anything knows flare leg jeans are completely mom jeans, but if you crop them yourself you can totally still use them, you know?” 

 

“Uh…” Will says, watching as eleven-year-old Beth pauses her lengthy fashion rant to focus on her milkshake. The pre-teen years are a trip. He was not ready. “Sure. I guess.” 

 

She sighs and gives him a patronizing look, which is honestly ridiculous because she’s  _ eleven. _ “I’m right. Just accept it.”

 

“About women’s fashion? Okay,” he agrees, offering a small smile to someone passing the other direction as they nearly collide. Competition for space on the sidewalk of the open-air mall is fierce and WIll feels more than a bit swallowed by the crowd. Back-to-school shopping was a whole lot easier when Beth was little and content to limit it to Target. 

 

“I’m  _ so _ right,” she tells him. “I mean, think about it… would  _ you _ date someone in mom jeans?” 

 

That’s enough to jar him. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to go around them, and he looks at his baby sister with huge eyes and lungs that have forgotten how to work.

 

“First of all, who the hell said anything about you and dating? You’re eleven. Slow your roll, kid,” he tells her, somehow managing to speak in spite of his airless lungs. 

 

“I know that,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Boys are stupid. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to look cute, though.”

 

“You know what’s cute?” he asks with a painful, desperate optimism. “That shirt with the Disney princesses you used to wear all the time. That one with the bows on the sleeves and it said ‘Princess Power’ on it.”

 

“I was like seven!” she protests. 

 

“It’s practically vintage now then, right?” he suggests, offering up a huge, hopeful smile. 

 

She groans and rolls her eyes at the sky before starting down the sidewalk again, leaving Will to catch up in her wake. 

 

“Aw, Bethy, I’m only kidding… mostly,” he tells her. 

 

“I’m not a baby, Will,” she replies. “I’m starting middle school. That’s almost high school which is basically a grown up.”

 

“It’s really not,” he counters, but she continues on like he hasn’t spoken at all. “I’m thirty-two and I’m not entirely sure  _ I’m _ a grown-up.”

 

“Being a middle schooler is a whole new world for me,” she tells him, entirely ignoring his words. “I’m done with kid stuff and I want to look cute and put together and that means no princess shirts and absolutely no flare leg jeans.”

 

In theory, Will gets that. He remembers finishing elementary school and feeling like he wasn’t a kid anymore, like the whole world was opening up in front of him. He’d ditched the last of his Star Wars shirts - much to Felicity’s dismay - and insisted that cartoons were behind him. 

 

But this is Bethy -  _ his _ Bethy - and he still has nightmares about her tiny body with all of those wires and tubes coming out of it in the aftermath of the accident that killed their mom. 

 

How the hell can she be starting middle school?

 

“I did date a girl who wore flare leg jeans, you know,” Will says as a sort of peace offering. 

 

“When? In like 2035?” Beth scoffs, wrinkling her nose as she looks up at him. 

 

“Does it matter?” he asks. 

 

“Um, completely,” Beth informs him. “It was questionable but sort-of fashionable in 2035. If this was last week, I have concerns about this girl’s taste… in clothing, anyhow.”

 

For all that Beth is professing to be nearly an adult, it strikes him in this moment how young she really is, how very impressionable. She believes what her friends say, whatever’s emphasized in the beauty blogs and fashion magazines of the day. 

 

“It doesn’t matter whether you’re wearing something in style or not,” he tells her. “Wear whatever you like and be confident about it. That’s how fashion trends start.” 

 

“Okay, cheeseball,” she snorts, rolling her eyes again. 

 

If she keeps it up, her eyes are gonna roll right out of her head. He’s sure of it. Just as sure as he is that his words aren’t going to get through to her. He’s old in her eyes, out of touch, and she’s not about to listen to him. 

 

“Fine,” he agrees with a beleaguered sigh. “Fine… so what is it that you want to get, then? What’s in style right now?”

 

“Skinny jeans,” she replies, furrowing her eyebrows together as she gestures broadly toward a storefront window. “Clearly.”

 

“Okay. And where do we get you skinny jeans?” he asks before adding, “Any jeans are skinny jeans on you, you know. You’re a toothpick.” 

 

She sticks her tongue out at him, so he does exactly the same thing in response. Nearly thirty-three or not, he’s shameless when it comes to his baby sister and he will absolutely match any daring display of public defiance.

 

“Come on,” she tells him, grabbing his elbow and dragging him toward a nearby not-quite-department store with obnoxious, sparkly phrases printed on crop tops and more jewelry than clothes on the mannequins. 

 

He really misses the Target days.

 

“I think blue-green is in this season,” she tells him as they enter and she wanders toward the nearest display rack, flipping through the clothes. Her voice gets very quiet as she adds, “I emailed Macy to see if that’s what they’re wearing in Monument Point, but she didn’t answer me.” 

 

She doesn’t look back at him, instead staring down at a shirt he knows she doesn’t actually have any interest in. She doesn’t want him to see the hurt on her face at the lack of response from her half-sister. Of that, he has no doubt. But it’s probably for the best that she doesn’t see the look of pain tightening his features, either. 

 

Where Will had stepped up and been there for Beth from the moment their mother passed away, Macy’s done the exact opposite. She’s been completely absent in Beth’s life from the moment she was old enough to move away. And as much as Will never liked his step-sister, he’d give anything for Bethy to have a woman in the family she could go to for things like this. She definitely seems to want one. 

 

“Please,” he scoffs after a minute. “Have you ever seen pictures of Macy from high school? You’re already twice as fashionable as her. I bet she didn’t even know the answer and that’s why she didn’t reply.” 

 

Beth looks back at him gratefully, but they both know he’s lying. The effort counts, though, and he’s not surprised to find her abandoning the rack of clothes to wrap her arms around his midsection in a tight hug. 

 

“You really are the best, Will,” she mutters in his chest. “You know that?” 

 

“Even if I dated a girl who wore flare leg jeans?” he jokes, pulling back a little to catch her eye. 

 

She scrunches her nose as she pretends to think it over. “I guess no one’s perfect.”

 

“Cute,” he tells her, nodding back toward the racks. “Let’s find some stuff for you to try on. I can pretend to be your coat rack and you can put all the hangers on my arm. It’ll be fun.”

 

“Dork,” she accuses, shaking her head as she turns away and wanders back toward the clothes. 

 

He really does begin to feel like a human closet after a while, with more than two dozen hangers digging into his forearms and far too many jeans draped over the top. Who needs this much clothing? How will this all even fit in her closet? He doesn’t remember either of his other sisters having so many outfits at this age, but then Beth isn’t the sort for band t-shirts like Jules or pastel-colored cardigans like Ellie. 

 

“Why don’t we get you a room to try these on before I end up with permanent indentations in my arms?” Will suggests. He carried a forty-seven-year-old, out-of-shape investment banker from a burning building last week, but his eleven-year-old sister’s wardrobe choices might be what does him in. 

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, eyes darting around the shop as she chews her lip. “This part’s crowded, though. I bet there’s a wait for the fitting room. Let’s go over to that one.”

 

He follows the line of her sight before looks back at the rack in front of her, playing with the sizing tag on the hanger, spinning it around with her fingers and watching as it goes. 

 

“The underwear department?” he asks, giving her a skeptical look. 

 

“Fitting room is a fitting room,” she shrugs, not looking at him. “It’ll be faster.” 

 

“...Okay,” he agrees, watching as she lets out a relieved sigh and wondering what’s really going on with her right now. “You probably need socks and… stuff, too, anyhow.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, a spark lighting her up as she finally meets his eyes. “Socks. Exactly.”

 

Sure. This is about socks. Will presses his lips together and nods, because if she’s uneasy about buying panties with her brother around… that’s fine. He’s not going to make her uncomfortable about it. 

 

In what has to be the most ridiculous pretense ever, she actually grabs a few pairs of socks as she breezes toward the changing room with him in tow. He shakes his head to himself, wishing he had a way to make her more at home with this, but he doesn’t want to bring it up at all if it’s going to make her uneasy. 

 

For all the time that Will’s spent around girls, he really doesn’t know how to deal with Beth trying to sneakily shop for underwear. 

 

“Six things at a time, hon,” a salesgirl tells Beth as the girl reaches for the pile over Will’s arm. “Your dad can wait out here and you can change stuff out, though.”

 

“My  _ brother _ was definitely waiting out here,” Beth replies, giving the salesgirl a combative look.

 

This is far from the first time Will’s been mistaken for Bethy’s father. It’s been happening pretty much from the moment she was born. Hazards of being a sibling twenty-one years old than her, he supposes. He doesn’t mind it. In truth, Beth doesn’t either, but she does take joy in making other people squirm over their own assumptions. 

 

It doesn’t work this time, though. The salesgirl just gives Will another look - a considerably more interested one, which is jarring considering he’s with his baby sister in the underwear section of a cheap, wannabe-department store  - and she shrugs. 

 

“Great brother you’ve got to take you shopping,” she notes, appraising Will. 

 

“Yeah. He’s the best,” Beth grits out, grabbing the item count tag for her changing room stall. “His fiance totally thinks so, too. You should  _ see _ the rock he got her. It’s absurd, but he says that’s what you do when you’re absolutely crazy about someone, you know? I’m amazed I got him to leave the house without her. They’re usually being all sappy with each other. It’s only gotten worse with the baby on the way, too.”

 

“Bethy,” Will says, giving her a warning look. She loves to pull this shit, makes up stories constantly to ward off pushy women and take control of the situation. But every time she does this it hurts a little more. He’s never figured out how to tell her that. But the fantasy lives she paints for him can be so very detailed and so incredibly close to what he wants for his life. And hearing her spell them out for a stranger like they’re something he’s actually living… that’s a unique brand of pain that lances straight through him every time.

 

“Lucky lady,” the saleswoman says with a pleasant smile. “There’s a waiting area right over here if you want to sit down.”

 

“Thanks,” Will tells her, heading over to drop the remaining part of Bethy’s haul onto a chair. 

 

“I’ll be around if you need anything,” the woman adds. “It’s just me today for the whole department, though. Sorry if it takes a bit.”

 

“It’s fine,” Beth tells her. “Whatever. I don’t need help. Do I need a key for a room or...”

 

“No, just head on back,” the woman tells her.

 

“Okay,” Beth agrees as the woman heads off. She waits just until the woman turns the corner before looking at Will and saying “Gimmie more of the pile.”

 

“The rule’s six things, Beth,” he reminds her, but he’s already handing her more things anyhow.  

 

“Yeah because that’s not stupid or anything,” she snorts. “They’re  _ clearly _ paying so much attention to the fitting rooms with one person working in the entire department the week before school starts. Just hand it over.”

 

In truth, he thinks it’s a dumb rule, too. Especially if no one’s around to enforce it. So, he hands her half of the pile with a sigh before sitting down on a creaky, fake leather sofa next to the remaining clothes. 

 

“Better get started,” he tells her, settling in for the long haul. “I promised your dad you’d be home for dinner.”

 

“It’s noon,” she tells him with yet another sarcastic eye roll.

 

“Exactly,” he agrees, making a shooing motion. “Get to it.”

 

There’s more clothes than girl when she heads toward the fitting rooms. He doesn’t watch her go, instead staring at his phone intent on spending his time catching up on his much-ignored social media accounts. 

 

He’s caught up on the hell that is Facebook and his entire Instagram account, where he decides he follows entirely too many ex-girlfriends, before he realizes it’s been an absurdly long time. Beth’s not known for her speed in getting ready to go anywhere. She primps in ways neither of his other sisters ever had, matching lip gloss to nail polish and looking for coordinating jewelry and the perfect pair of shoes. But this is kind of absurd even for her. 

 

Getting up, he heads toward the entryway of the fitting room, feeling like there’s some kind of invisible barrier at the threshold. “You okay in there, Beth?” he calls out. “Need another size or anything?”

 

“I dunno,” she answers after a moment with a little sniffle. 

 

Is she  _ crying _ ? He’s suddenly on high alert. 

 

“Bethy are you alright?” he asks, alarm ringing out clearly in his voice. 

 

“I’m fine,” she answers. But a mournful note tinges her voice and every impulse Will has is telling him to charge into the fitting room for intimate apparel in a women’s clothing store. 

 

Wouldn’t  _ that _ make an interesting headline for the gossip blogs? 

 

“Beth, honey, it sounds like you’re crying and I’m worried,” he says, pushing back his instincts. “Do you need me to come in there?”

 

“God,  _ no _ ,” she sighs. There’s a metallic clang of a lock and a creak of a door before her soft footfalls pad against the low-end carpet. And then she’s right in front of him on the other side of the doorway. Sure enough, her eyes are puffy and her nose is red. But he can’t for the life of him figure out why. 

 

“That’s… that’s a cute shirt,” he says, because  _ God _ is he helpless right now. 

 

“It’s not the shirt,” Beth protests, looking down and flopping her arms to the side. 

 

“Did you decide you need flare leg jeans after all?” he questions. 

 

“No, of course not,” she says dramatically, gulping back a few tears. 

 

“Then I don’t-”

 

“I need a bra,” she blurts out, her shoulders shaking as she tries to cage in her sniffles and wraps her arms around herself. “My friends were teasing me because I’m the only one who doesn’t have one and I thought I could just grab one or two and put them in the pile, but I don’t know how to pick one that fits.”

 

“...Oh.”

 

That sort of short-circuits his brain - Beth can’t actually be old enough for a bra, can she? - but more than that it, feels like a shot to the heart that she doesn’t have anyone to help her with this. And it only worsens when she keeps talking. The dam’s broken on her emotions and everything comes rushing out all at once. 

 

“That’s why I e-mailed Macy last week, but she didn’t even bother replying,” Beth tells him as the tears start up in earnest. They’re at least as much in anger at her own display of emotion as they are about the situation. Will knows that. He knows his  _ sister _ . She deals with vulnerability about as well as Jules does.“She’s my sister, you know?” Beth asks. “She’s my sister and she doesn’t care about me at all. I don’t have a mom, the least I could have is a sister who cares enough to to help me with big things. But I don’t, I don’t, I just-”

 

“You’ve got me,” he reminds her, cutting her off and grabbing hold of her shoulders, tugging her into his arms. “You’ve got me, Bethy. And you could’ve told me, kiddo. It’s just clothing. I wouldn’t have been too weird about it... I’m sorry about Macy. I am. I’ll talk to her.”

 

Yell at her again, more like. God, he’s never liked his step-sister, but he really, truly can’t understand how she can be so dismissive of Beth. This little girl - _not-so-_ little girl - currently crying in his arms means the world to him. She’s this incredible little person he’s been in love with since the moment he almost lost her. He’s grateful and awed every day that she lets him be such a huge part of her life. And for her to reach out to Macy only to be shut her out entirely… he can’t understand it at all, but it absolutely fuels his dislike for his step-sister. 

 

“I need a… a  _ girl _ person,” she whispers into his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. 

 

She won’t say she needs a mother. He’s not sure if she even thinks it. She tries to be so strong, his Bethy. But she’s just a kid, just an eleven-year-old girl with an absentee half-sister and a mom who died when she was too young to remember her. His eyes slip closed at that, as if he could shut out reality, as if his will alone could change things for her.

 

“You can always talk to me,” he promises. “Always. Even though I’m not a girl. I know sometimes I forget how big you’re getting and you might need to knock me on the head a few times to point out you’re not running around in princess dresses anymore, but you can tell me anything, Beth. Anything at all, okay?”

 

“I know,” she says quietly, picking at some fuzz on his shirt before backing off slightly and wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “But I don’t think you’re exactly a bra expert, Will.”

 

That’s fair. Any expertise he has regarding bras is entirely in how to remove them quickly and with one hand. He has no clue how to pick one that fits. 

 

“I could look for the salesperson for you?” he suggests. 

 

“Miss ‘Six Items Only?’” Beth asks, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “No thanks. I don’t… I’m not gonna take off my shirt in front of her. That’s just weird”

 

The usually-sassy girl has her arms wrapped around herself again, like she’s trying to hide her body and Will just wants to fix this, wants his baby sister back to her over-confident, sometimes-difficult self again.

 

“Okay,” he says nodding. “Okay, how do you feel about Jules, then? Or Ellie? Or Felicity, even?”

 

Beth pauses and thinks that over before giving a one-shouldered shrug. “They’re okay, I guess,” she mumbles.

 

_ They’re not a mom or a sister _ is what she means, but they’re the closest thing Will can provide. And, by God, he’s absolutely going to do that. 

 

“Okay, give me just a second,” he says, licking his lips as he pulls out his phone. “Do you have more jeans or shirts to try on or anything?”

 

“Yeah,” she admits. “I think I snagged like the entire junior’s section.”

 

“Okay. Deep breath. You’re fine,” he tells her. “Why don’t you go get back to that while I work on the bra help, okay? You got a preference on who?”

 

She hems and haws over that for a moment, chewing her lip as she considers her options. “Jules, I guess,” she says finally. “She won’t look at me like she’s pitying me, anyhow.”

 

“None of them pity you, Bethy,” he promises her. 

 

“Sure they don’t,” she scoffs. “Every time Mom comes up, Felicity looks at me like I’m a kicked puppy or something. I like her. She’s nice. But I can’t stand that.”

 

Well, that sounds like another conversation Will needs to have. He has no doubt that Felicity does feel bad for Beth, but it shouldn’t be a burden  _ for Beth _ . The last thing she needs is to be treated like she’s missing out. 

 

“Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll try Jules first. Go try on the other half of the store.”

 

She’s still sporting red-rimmed eyes and the tip of her nose is rosy, but the crying’s stopped. That’s something. Her eye-roll is back, too. He’s not sure he’s ever been quite so relieved to see it before. 

 

Without a word, she turns and heads back to her changing stall. Will doesn’t even wait until he hears the door click shut before he’s scrambling to text his sister. 

 

“ _ S.O.S.” _

 

It’s only a minute before he gets a response.

 

“ _?” _

 

Jules is nothing if not to the point. 

 

“ _ Got a bit of time to help with a girl problem _ ?” he asks before adding a “ _ Please? _ ” 

 

“ _ Are you sure you texted the right person? _ ” Jules replies back. “ _ You’re seriously asking me for advice on girls???? _ ”

 

He can practically see the incredulous look on her face as her eyes widen with wary disbelief and her eyebrows shoot up to toward her hairline. 

 

“ _ Not for me! Beth needs help, _ ” he shoots back, scoffing at his phone as he sits back on the waiting area sofa. 

 

“ _...With girls? _ ” 

 

“Oh my God,” he breathes out, shaking his head before texting his sister back. “ _ Not like that. She’s most comfortable with you. Can you just please come meet us? _ ”

 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” she agrees. “ _ Just let me clean up these paints and I’ll head out. Where am I going?” _

 

He gives her the name of the mall and store - to which she replies “ _ Yikes, you do need help _ ”  - and thanks her before pocketing his phone. Ten minutes, she said. She’ll be here in ten minutes. 

  
Thank goodness. 

 

He kills time waiting for Beth to finish or Jules to show up by trolling the gossip blogs with supposed scoops on his family. It’s childish at hell, but very little is as much fun as sending the paparazzi in circles chasing their own tails. 

 

If Nate gets hammered with questions about his plans to elope with a Swedish princess in the next few days… Well, Will’s not sorry at all. 

 

“This doesn’t look like crisis mode.” 

 

Jules’ voice pulls Will’s attention away from his phone and he looks up to find his sister standing a few feet away with her hands on her hips and a pair of sunglasses dangling from the vee of one of Alex’s shirts that she’s wearing as a tunic. He hopes his best friend/soon-to-be brother-in-law isn’t particularly attached to this shirt. It’s so splattered with paint that it nearly looks like it was meant to be a design.

 

“I thought you said you were cleaning up the paint?” Will questions, standing up. 

 

“So that it didn’t dry out,” Jules tells him. “I didn’t stop for a shower. What’s going on? And why are we… here?” Her nose scrunches up like something smells bad - in truth, the store could use a few air fresheners - and she looks around with clear distaste. “This stuff’s so cheap it’s practically disposable. I mean, there’s thrifty and then there’s ‘won’t make it through a second wash’ levels of cheap.”

 

“Beth wanted to go here,” Will tells her. Exasperation inches into his voice. Right now it feels like he can’t do anything right. 

 

“And she needed a woman to talk her out of it?” Jules asks, grabbing her sunglasses and perching them atop her head. Her engagement ring flashes brightly in the dull fluorescent lighting of the store. He’s still not used to seeing it there and it snags his attention away for just a moment. 

 

“Uh, no. She… needed help with something else,” he says when he finds Jules looking at him expectantly. 

 

“Hey Bethy,” she shouts, grabbing hold of the fitting room door frame and leaning back to call through the opening. “Get your cute little butt out here.”

 

Usually, Beth isn’t the sort to respond to that kind of demand, but it’s a little different with Jules. The eleven-year-old looks up to her - sees Jules as a sister in snark, if not in blood - and Will isn’t surprised when the younger girl comes rushing from the fitting room. He  _ is _ surprised when she barrels straight into Jules for a quick hug, though. 

 

So’s Jules, for that matter. She pats Beth’s back as she gives Will a thoroughly confused look that he really wishes he had the nerve to snap a picture of. 

 

“I’m  _ so _ glad you’re here,” Beth tells her, when she lets go and backs up a step, brushing her long, slightly curly brown hair behind her ear. “Will’s great and all, but he doesn’t know a thing about any of this and I need a girl to help me.”

 

“With shopping?” Jules asks, her eyes darting to Will. 

 

“I need a bra,” Beth tells her, her cheeks turning painfully red as she speaks in a hushed voice. “And, like… there’s all these sizes and none of them are extra-small, which is what I’d figured I was, and I don’t know what they  _ mean _ or how they’re supposed to fit and I just-”

 

“Oh!” Jules interrupts, realization dawning. A pleased look pulls at the edges of her eyes and she gives Beth a little grin. “And you called me?”

 

“Yeah, well… You’re pretty cool for a grown-up,” Beth replies, hedging her words with a dismissive half-shrug. She crosses her arms and looks off to the side like none of this matters. “I figured you wouldn’t suck to shop with.”

 

“No, that’s cool,” Jules says, completely matching her tone and mirroring her stance. 

 

Their inflections alone feel like an entirely different language… one Will doesn’t speak. His eyes dart between his sisters wondering what the hell they’re actually saying to each other, because he feels like he’s missing a lot. 

 

“I mean, if you wanna help with the rest of my shopping, too, I’m not gonna stop you,” Beth tells her, sniffing dismissively. 

 

“I’m already here,” Jules sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “I guess I might as well.”

 

“Cool,” Beth nods at her, playing at being aloof.

 

“So… step one in buying a bra?” Jules says, leaning in a little. “You’ve gotta splurge. There are plenty of clothing items you can skimp on, but a bra isn’t one of them. We need to take you somewhere… not here.”

 

“I know this isn’t the best,” Beth agrees. “But it’s cheap and I didn’t think Will would get too weird about being dragged in.”

 

“I wouldn’t get  _ weird _ ,” Will chimes in defensively. 

 

They both look at him for a moment before turning back to each other, thoroughly dismissing him. He’d be offended, but he’s not sure he wants to be a part of this conversation in the first place. 

 

“No girl buys her own first bra,” Jules informs Beth as she picks at some dried paint under her nails. “On me,” she offers without looking up. “Let’s take you to the good stores and get you properly measured. If Will gets weird about it, we can tease him later. It’ll be fun.”

 

“I  _ do _ like teasing Will,” Beth agrees. As if that were the most important thing Jules had said. “And spending money that isn’t mine.”

 

He can’t even object, not when Beth is actually smiling. She’s fighting it, but it’s there. Her eyes light up as she looks at Jules, like the older girl is her own private hero. It’s been like that these last few years with them. Jules pretends not to notice, mostly because Bethy prefers it that way. But it’s painfully obvious how much his baby sister needs a woman in her life she can look up to. 

 

“Come on,” Jules offers, tilting her head toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. If we’re  _ really _ lucky maybe the salesgirls will hit on him and we can tease him about that, too.”

 

“Hey!” Will protests. 

 

“That’s cool,” Beth sniffs, looping her hand through Jules’ arm. “I’ll just pretend he’s my dad and scare them off. That almost always works.”

 

“You will not!” Will tells her, eyeing the two of them together. They’re a hell of a force when they put their heads together. It’s almost scary sometimes. Especially when they team up against him. But he really can’t mind too much. Not when Bethy grins like she is right now. 

 

“You coming, Will?” Jules asks him, leaning into Beth a little more. 

 

“Yeah, Will,” Beth adds, sighing and flipping her hair behind her. “Try to keep up.”

 

In truth, he’s not sure he can. Not against the two of them. But that’s something he’s more than okay with. 

 


	25. January 2050

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jules' husband and five-year-old daughter make her a birthday breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for who Jules marries (obviously). This was written by the request of... quite a few readers who noted we hadn't yet had Sylvia with her Papa. So... here you go! (Unbetaed. Please forgive any errors). Credit to LatinaSmoak for the language help (as always!).
> 
> This is the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff.

**January 2050**

 

“I can do it, Papa. Soy una big girl.”

 

The milk jug seems nearly as big as she is and five-year-old Sylvia struggles as she makes her way across the kitchen. But she hefts it up onto the counter with a dainty little grunt and a great big smile. 

 

“See? I did it, Papa!” she proclaims happily, scrambling up the stepstool next to him. 

 

“You did,” he agrees, tapping her nose and smiling in return. “You’re a very good helper. But did you wash your hands yet, mija?”

 

The little girl freezes mid-reach for the sugar, her already-big eyes going even wider.

 

“Oh!” she proclaims, suddenly looking quite worried. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” he assures her, hoisting her up off the stepstool. “We haven’t started yet. This is a good time to wash up. That’s always the first step of cooking, okay?”

 

“Si,” she agrees, stretching her hands out toward the faucet as he walks her over toward the sink and turns on the water. “I don’t wanna get Momma sick with her  _ birthday _ breakfast. That would not be a good gift.”

 

Alex kisses the top of her head as he helps lather up her hands. She’s such a joy, this little girl, the best surprise and happiest accident he could have ever dared hope for. 

 

“You’re already the best gift, cariño,” he promises her. “But let’s keep our germs to ourselves, yeah?” 

 

“Yes,” she agrees with a sharp nod as he turns off the water and grabs a dish towel to dry her hands. “No germs. Only waffles… But, Papa, I don’t think I had any germs anyhow.”

 

“Why’s that?” he asks, looking down at his little girl and trying to suss out how her mind works. 

 

“‘Cause I didn’t see any!” she insists. “And ‘cause I’m not sick.”

 

He chuckles as she holds her hands up to show them off and stares at him with those innocent, curious eyes of hers. 

 

“Germs are too tiny to see, my love,” he tells her, stroking her hair away from her furrowed brow. “And did you pet Ember or Tantrum today?”

 

“Si,” she agrees, looking to the side where Ember perks up in the corner from her dog bed, ears standing up straight and her one eye focused on them. Tantrum is under foot, tail thumping and whimpering softly as he looks for affection. “Tantrum needed a cuddle.”

 

“Of course he did,” Alex nods. Tantrum would spend every moment being cuddled if he could. Jules might be his favorite, but Sylvia is a close second. “You don’t want dog fur or doggy slobber in the waffles, do you?”

 

“Ew, Papa,” Sylvia announces, scrunching up her little nose. “That’s yucky.”

 

“It is,” he agrees. “And it is definitely not in the waffle recipe.”

 

“ _ Grandpa _ ’s waffle recipe,” Sylvia corrects him. 

 

“Perdón,” he apologizes, holding up a hand. “You’re correct. It’s not in  _ grandpa’s _ waffle recipe.” 

 

“It’s a family secret,” she says, holding her finger up to her lips. “We don’t tell family secrets.”

 

Thank goodness Sylvia takes that so very seriously. All things considered, it’s a necessity in their lives. 

 

“Secret family recipes might be a little less important than secret family crime-fighting,” he tells her, depositing her back on her step stool. “But it’s good to keep to yourself anyhow. I’m sure Grandpa would appreciate it.”

 

“A secret is a secret, Papa,” she informs him. The sober look on her face is equal parts ridiculous and adorable as she gives him a critical look. Tantrum leans against her leg, staring up pitifully. “We do not tell them, big or small.”

 

“You’re right, of course,” he assures her. “But it’s a family secret, so you get to know the recipe.”

 

Cooking with Sylvia is messy and takes three times as long as it would otherwise, but Alex really doesn’t care. There is nothing he likes more than working side-by-side with his little girl as she stares up at him, eager to learn and absorbing everything he says with curiosity and obvious affection. 

 

And she loves to cook with him. Since the time she could walk, she’s stood at his or Jules’ side as they work in the kitchen, watching on in fascination as they whip up some meal or another. She was young when they started letting her help. Very young. Julianna let her empty a measuring cup of ingredients into some pasta and he watched as his little girl’s whole face lit up with pride. 

 

From then on, she was hooked. And, with joy so readily displayed on her face, so was he. So what if cooking takes forever? Sylvia won’t be five forever and Alex knows full well this is the only child he’ll ever have. He intends to savor every moment as she grows up. 

 

“Just a half a cup of oil, Sylvie,” he tells her, bending down so they’re eye-to-eye with a measuring cup in front of them. “To here, you see? Too much or too little and the waffles won’t turn out. Do you think you can do it?”

 

She bites her lip and rests her chin on the countertop, staring closely at the lines on the glass cup. “Yes, Papa,” she decides, taking a fortifying breath. “I can do this.”

 

“Good girl,” he tells her. “I’m gonna beat the egg whites while you do that. If you need help, I’m right here.”

 

She nods like she’s about to embark on a mission, all severe lines to her face and focused, serious eyes. He has to bite back a laugh at the sight and he can’t help watching out of the corner of his eye as he works on the eggs. 

 

The meticulousness she goes about her task with borders on absurd. Alex can’t help thinking that her Uncle Nate would be impressed. She’s dedicated to being  _ exact _ in her measurement, pouring the oil drop-by-drop and stopping to scrutinize her progress as she goes.

 

“¿Asi Papa?” she asks, looking up at him for approval. 

 

“Si,” he smiles, stroking her hair. “That’s perfect, mija. Good job.” 

 

He watches as pride completely overtakes her face and she blushes happily. He’s biased, but he’s still pretty sure it’s the cutest thing in the entire world. 

 

“Can I pour it in?” she asks. Before he can answer, she rushes to add, “I’ll be careful, Papa. Lo prometo.” 

 

“I know you will,” he assures her. “Go ahead. Put it in that bowl there.” 

 

It’s very serious business for her, pouring that oil. She chews her lip as she concentrates, her little brow furrowing with worry as she works. It’s not a difficult task, though, and she manages to pour in every drop without spilling a bit. 

 

The satisfied look of excitement on her face when she manages it spills over into a strong sense of pride that sweeps through Alex, though. Everything about his little girl makes him so very proud of her, but seeing her own joy at her successes might be the best thing about being a father. 

 

“I did it,” she announces with a grin that lights up her whole face. 

 

“I knew you could,” he assures her, giving her a one-armed hug and kissing the top of her head. “That’s my girl.” 

 

At her feet, Tantrum yips and headbutts against her thigh, wanting to be a part of whatever is going on. 

 

“Lo siento, Tantrum,” Sylvia tells the dog. “I am cooking right now. I can’t pet you. You have  _ germs _ .”

 

Alex chuckles and squeezes her tightly before letting go and reaching for a measuring spoon. “Do you think you can do the vanilla, too? Just one of these. And after you’re done, put the spoon in the sink.”

 

“Yes,” she agrees, enthusiasm shining in her eyes. “I can do it!”

 

“Good girl,” he tells her, turning back to the egg whites. 

 

It’s quiet for a minute as they both concentrate on their own tasks, but after a moment Sylvia’s soft voice breaks through the silence with a worried tone. 

 

“Papa? There’s a problem,” she tells him. 

 

He turns to find her looking very distressed, her brow knit together and her chin pulled back like she’s trying not to cry. 

 

“Did you have trouble measuring?” he asks, silently cursing himself for not watching closer if only so that they could avoid this very situation. “A little extra vanilla won’t ruin anything, Sylvie. Mama will still love it.”

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head hard. “I poured it in right, but it’s  _ gone bad _ .”

 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

 

“It’s very bad, Papa,” she says with a mournful sigh, looking at the bowl defeatedly. “We can’t give it to, Momma. Lo siento mucho.”  

 

“Sylvie, how is it bad?” he asks, still trying to suss out what’s going on.

 

“The taste is very wrong!” she insists, projecting an increasing amount of distress as she talks. There’s a smudge of flour on her cheek and something’s spilled on her miniature “Queen of the Kitchen” apron that her grandfather bought her. It’s painfully cute, but she’s also working herself up to a panic and the second Alex figures out what’s going on he knows he needs to calm that down. 

 

“Sylvie, did you lick the spoon?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

 

“It was only going in the sink anyhow,” she replies. 

 

“I know, mija, I’m not upset,” he tells her, settling his hands on her shoulders. “But you did, yes?”

 

She nods, locking her worried eyes with his gaze. “Am I going to be sick now? Is that what germs taste like?”

 

“No, oh, Sylvie,” he laughs. “It’s not bad at all. I promise.”

 

“It  _ is _ ,” she counters, emphasizing the work with great drama. “I love vanilla, Papa. This did not taste at all like vanilla.” 

 

“That’s because there’s no sugar in it yet,” he grins, stroking her shoulders soothingly. “Vanilla is always bitter before you add sugar. It smells the same, but it tastes different. Okay?”

 

She mulls that over, watching him warily, her eyes darting toward the bowl and glaring at it a bit as though she might be blaming it for something. 

 

“Vanilla should taste like vanilla,” she says finally, looking back to her father and awaiting further explanation. 

 

“That’s cooking, Sylvie,” he tells her. “You add things and it changes the taste, right? You just never had vanilla without sugar before.”

 

“Oh,” she says, growing quiet as she furrows her brow in thought. “Then do I really like vanilla? Or do I just like sugar?” 

 

It’s a surprisingly profound question for a five year old and Alex finds himself chuckling at his daughter yet again. 

 

“You would not eat jalapenos alone, would you? Yet you like salsa  _ with _ jalapenos,” he reminds her. “Sometimes you need both parts to make something work.”

 

Pursing her lips, she casts her eyes to the side and thinks that through. “Cooking is very magical,” she decides, giving a solemn nod of her head. “Like princess magic.”

 

“Let’s do some magic then, mi pequeña princesa,” he says, squeezing her shoulder lightly and letting go. “We’re nearly ready. Can you get down a mug for Mama’s coffee and grab the creamer?” 

 

“Yes, Papa,” she assures him. “That I can do.”

 

She scurries about the kitchen, gathering the things she needs for her mother’s coffee, but Alex doesn’t let her pour it. He’s too afraid she’ll burn herself in the process, something she huffs in annoyance about because she’s a big girl… or so she tells him. But he does let her grab some silverware and he keeps her busy with assigning her to put together a plate of fresh fruit. 

 

Lately, his baby wants to do everything by herself. He’s only kept her away from the actual  _ cooking _ part of cooking by distracting her with other tasks. Pretty soon, that won’t work anymore. But today it does. He’s done with the first two waffles before she’s finished rinsing and dividing the fruit onto plates. 

 

A snap judgement has him turning off the waffle iron and grabbing the coffee along with one of the plates. Jules and Sylvie have their breakfasts made. That’s enough for now.

 

“You ready?” he asks his little girl. 

 

“Where’s yours?” she questions, her voice full of concern. “Aren’t you hungry?”

 

“I can wait, mija,” he replies, giving her a wink. “I’d rather get this to your mama while it’s warm.”

 

“Oh,  _ yes _ ,” Sylvia nods sharply. “You can share mine, if you want, Papa. I don’t mind. It looks like an awful lot of food for my tummy.”

 

She’s right. It is. She’s loaded up a ridiculous amount of fruit on their plates, but then that’s his Sylvie. She does love her fresh fruit. 

 

“I might share a few berries,” he agrees. “But I’ll leave the banana for you, my little monkey.”

 

“Thank you, Papa!” she grins, looking ever-so-pleased with the situation. “Come on. Be  _ very _ quiet. We don’t want to wake Mama before we’re in the room!”

 

She’s already awake. He’d bet anything, but he’s not about to tell his daughter that. If she wants to surprise her mother… well, he’s pretty sure Jules will play along. 

 

“Tiptoe feet, then,” he tells her, leaning over and making his voice very quiet. “And be very careful not to drop Mama’s plate. Do you need help?”

 

“Yo si puedo,” she counters. “I’m a big girl, remember? I won’t spill.”

 

“Okay,” he agrees. “Nice and slow, then.”

 

She takes that advice to extremes, walking with more focus than anyone he’s seen in his entire life. Ember and Tantrum  _ both _ follow behind her, having far too little faith in her ability to hold the plate steady. But Sylvia bites her tongue and furrows her brow as she walks, holding the plate with both hands and shuffling her feet forward inch by inch. 

 

Their house is small, but it still takes her five full minutes to get to the bedroom door. 

 

“ _ Papa _ ,” she stage-whispers when they get to the door, concern etching itself in her features. “ _ I can’t open it! My hands are very full. _ ”

 

His are, too, but he manages it anyhow and the door swings open to reveal his wife lounging in bed. She tosses her phone to the side the moment she sees them and feigns surprise. 

 

“What is this?” she asks, sitting up a little straighter. “You’d think it was someone’s birthday or something.”

 

“It is!” Sylvia insists. “It’s yours, Mama! I made you waffles. Papa helped.” Alex snorts at that and shakes his head at his daughter, but she’s not done. “He’s a very good helper,” Sylvia confides.

 

“He is,” Jules agrees in a conspiratorial voice as both the dogs hop up on the bed with her. “You two down,” she scolds lightly. “That spot’s for my Sylvie-bug, a great chef in the making.”

 

“I am,” Sylvia agrees, watching the plate carefully as she keeps shuffling forward and sighing with relief as she hands it to her mother. “I learned lots today about vanilla and how it’s like jalapenos.”

 

Jules gives a skeptical look at that before glancing up at Alex with a raised eyebrow and scrunched lips.   

 

“Cooking magic, mi amor,” he tells her, leaving it at that. “Happy birthday.”

 

“Hand over the coffee and hop into bed and it will be,” she grins, giving him a wink.

 

The warning look he returns her with is half-hearted at best. He knows what she has in mind just as well as he knows it can’t be happening right now, not with their five-year-old awake and interactive. Some celebrations will have to wait for later.

 

A notion Sylvia quickly confirms. 

 

“I’ll hop into bed, too!” Sylvia announces, scurrying up at Jules’ side and burrowing beneath the crook of her arm. “Come on, Papa!”

 

He sets Sylvia’s plate on the bedside table and hands Julianna her coffee before easing onto the bed with his girls. His wife leans over and kisses him the moment he’s close enough, humming in quiet appreciation against his lips. 

 

“Hey you,” he smiles, hovering a breath away from her when they part.

 

“Hey yourself,” she returns. 

 

“You gotta try it!” Sylvia squeaks, nearly bursting with excitement. “You gotta try your birthday waffle. I’ve gotta know how it turned out. Please, Mama?” 

 

“Okay, okay,” Jules says, scooting up a little and setting her coffee to the side to cut off a forkful of waffle. “Here I go, okay?”

 

Alex watches Sylvia as she holds her breath and chews her lower lip, her eyes fixated on her mother. For her part, Jules takes her time, draws out savoring her bite of waffle like she’s really considering if it’s good or not. She goes a little over the top, but Sylvia’s wide-eyed look of hope is distracting enough and adorable enough that he doesn’t give his wife a hard time about it. 

 

“Is it okay?” Sylvia asks when she finally can’t take it anymore. “Is it a good birthday waffle?

 

“You made it for me, Sylvie,” Jules tells her daughter, smiling widely and tapping the end of her daughter’s nose with a feather-light touch. “So, it’s a whole lot more than okay. You made it perfect.”

 


	26. May 2048 (for Sameera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany is headed to her senior prom and neither Will nor Amelia is quite ready for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG OLD SPOILERS HEREIN
> 
> Also an important note... 
> 
> This flashfic (and the next several that will be added over the next few days/weeks) were written as a thank you to several people who helped support the Remember Baby Sara campaign. This one was written for Sameera.
> 
> P.S. Yes, this is FiCoN canon (even with the changes to the Ameliam timeline made a few months ago).

**May 2048**

 

“How do I look?” 

 

Will smooths down his shirt as he raises his eyebrows at Amelia. His fingers stumble over a wet patch that he doesn’t even have to look at to realize is spit-up. Face tightening, he grabs an ever-present burp cloth from nearby and dabs futilely at the damp splotch. 

 

It’s pointless, he realizes with a rough grumble after a moment. He’s going to smell like formula for the rest of his life. He’s sure of it. And while he  _ does _ sort of look at it as a badge of honor, today he’s a little worried about presentation. 

 

“You realize that  _ you’re _ not the one going to prom, right?” Amelia asks him, not even pretending to hide her amusement. 

 

Will doesn’t bother to mask his exasperation. “This  _ boy _ is taking Bethy to prom.”

 

“Yes,” Amelia agrees. “Her boyfriend. How dare he like her. What a horrible thing that is.”

 

Her eyes light up as she raises an eyebrow at him. She has a point, clearly. He knows that. But he has one, too.

 

“Mock all you want, but I remember what seventeen was like,” Will retorts. 

 

Lord, is that true. He does his very best to dismiss the memory of prom night from his head. Or, rather, he does his very best to dismiss the memory of the back seat of his car on prom night from his head. Bethy should be in her room playing with dolls or sneaking Amelia’s make-up. She should  _ not _ have some teenage boy with sweaty hands on her waist having  _ thoughts. _

 

“She’s going to call you a hypocrite again and she’ll be right,” Amelia tells him, sober and plain-faced as she adjusts Micah on her hip. The eight-month-old grins and dribbles more formula from the corner of his mouth. Amelia doesn’t even look as she wipes it away. It’s a little mesmerizing how well she’s taken to being a mother, how effortless she makes it look in spite of the difficulty. He’d seen it before with her and Beth, but it’s different dealing with an infant. Still, she’s taken it in stride. “Besides,” she continues, looking at him as she wipes off Micah’s chin, “Santosh is a nice boy. I’m not sure we could ask for her to be dating someone more respectful.”

 

“He’s still a  _ boy _ !” Will protests. This is a valid point and he’s sticking to it. “I could ask for her to not be dating anyone. She could’ve waited a few more years. Like, until she’s thirty.”

 

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

 

“Am I, though?” Will asks. “Am I really?”

 

It feels like a reasonable question to him, but Amelia doesn’t seem to agree. She rolls her eyes and holds out Micah to him. It’s instinctive the way Will reaches for his son. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Micah’s settled in his arms, chewing on the collar of his shirt. 

 

“They’re here,” Amelia tells him, moving toward the door. “Hopefully holding your son will keep you from throttling a  _ very nice boy _ who has done nothing wrong.”

 

“He’s still a boy,” Will grumbles again, shuffling his feet. 

 

“So’s your son,” Amelia reminds him, tilting her head to the baby. Micah seems to realize he’s being talked about and gurgles indistinctly around the now-sopping-wet collar of Will’s shirt. “And he’s such a good boy, isn’t he?” Amelia grins at the baby. Micah bounces and babbles a little louder before leaning his head against his father’s shoulder with a broad, mostly-toothless grin.

 

Will wants to reply to that, wants to point out that Micah isn’t a teenager so he’s exempt, but Amelia’s already turned away and headed to the door to greet Bethany’s  _ date _ and his parents. So, he fixes a smile on his face instead and tries to pretend he isn’t secretly glaring daggers at the boy who’s taken an interest in Bethy. 

 

They’ve met before. Beth’s been dating this boy since around the start of the school year - far too long for Will’s comfort. And,  _ okay _ , he does seem like a good kid. He’s polite and respectful and Beth seems happy, but a few months after Christmas it’d shifted from Beth occasionally meeting this guy at the movies to spending every spare moment with him and it makes Will’s eye twitch. 

 

Amelia doesn’t share that affliction, though. She greets the boy with a warm smile and a compliment on his suit as she ushers him and his parents into the living room. It takes her nudging Will in his side for him to say a word. 

 

“Good to see you,” he allows, mostly because the tension level in Amelia’s frame actually makes him feel a little guilty. 

 

“Thank you, sir. You, too,” Santosh replies uneasily, taking a seat in the armchair off to the side as his parents settle on the sofa across from where Will, Amelia, and Micah sit. His eyes flit toward the stairwell as he chews his lip and rubs his palms flatly against his thighs. 

 

“Did you find the house okay?” Amelia asks after a long moment of silence, looking toward Santosh’s parents. They’ve talked many times, but this is the first time his parents have been over. 

 

“Oh yes. Your directions were excellent,” Santosh’s mother assures her. As if everyone doesn’t have GPS, utterly destroying at least one avenue of small talk from seeming reasonable in the least. But the two women seem to be avoiding acknowledging that fact at any cost. 

 

“Good,” Amelia replies, sounding more relieved than is really warranted. “Was traffic bad? Sometimes it can get really tangled up on Madison.”

 

“We took Grant instead,” she replies. 

 

“Smart move,” Amelia says, nodding at them. 

 

The clock on the mantle ticks so loudly that Will briefly considers getting rid of the thing. Every second of near-silence drags on, absurdly heightened. 

 

“Can I get anyone something to drink?” Amelia asks, looking between them. “Water? Tea? Coffee?” 

 

For Will’s money, he thinks Santosh’s dad looks like he could use something stiffer. If he still drank, he knows he would. It’s been a long time since whiskey had as much appeal as it does today. 

 

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” Santosh’s mother replies. His father does much the same.

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Queen, but I think I’m too nervous to drink anything,” Santosh admits, giving a tight laugh. “Is… Is Beth very excited?” 

 

Disliking this kid is annoyingly difficult, Will finds. It’s like resenting a puppy for wagging its tail. He comes across as so innocent and hopeful and Will’s  _ pretty sure _ that’s not an act at this point. 

 

“She is,” Amelia grins. “I texted her that you’re here and got all exclamation points in reply.”

 

“She doesn’t need help getting ready?” Santosh’s mother asks, glancing toward the stairwell. 

 

Another woman might have taken that question wrong, might have interpreted it to be criticizing her ability as a mother-figure, but Amelia seems to know better. The anxious look on Santosh’s mother’s face, who seems ready to go help Bethany herself, probably helps. 

 

“We spent the whole morning doing hair and nails and makeup and all of that,” Amelia informs her. Scrunching up her nose adorably, she adds, “It was kind of fun. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed that kind of thing at her age.”

 

“I am very glad she had the chance to share that with you,” Santosh’s mother replies, looking back to Amelia. “It is important for a girl. Bethany looks up to you very much, I think.”

 

The soft smile that echoes in Amelia’s eyes speaks volumes that Will knows no one but him can read. Not really. Their family is nothing like other families. The relationship that Beth and Amelia share defies categorization, but it’s rock-solid. Most days, Will is just grateful to have the chance to watch the two of them together.

 

“It meant a lot to me, too,” Amelia says. Will thinks that’s probably the understatement of the year, but he lets it slide because that’s the kind of conversation the two of them will have alone later, not with other people.

 

“So, she’s nearly ready, then?” Santosh asks, licking his lips and swallowing hard. He can’t seem to keep Will’s gaze, which the petty part of Will crows about internally. 

 

“Just debating jewelry over Skype with some of her friends,” Amelia assures him. “She’ll be down in a moment.” 

 

That does nothing to lessen the boy’s anxiety. He blows out a long exhale through thinned lips and goes back to rubbing his palms against his slacks. 

 

Micah punctuates the moment by letting out a long, loud ramble of nonsense and squirming to get down from his father’s lap. He’s not quite walking yet, but thoroughly annoyed with crawling. The moment he gets down to the ground he pulls himself up on the coffee table and tries to take a step before his chubby little legs collapse out from under him. Giving a pitiful grunt of annoyance, he tugs himself up again and repeats the process with the same result. 

 

He’s dedicated, that much is for sure. It won’t be long before he’s running everywhere and Will has no idea how they’ll keep up. 

 

Santosh’s mother smiles down at the baby as he uses her leg as a hand-hold. “Your son is very little,” she says. “Such a wonderful gift to your family to have a son, too. It has been quite some time since I’ve gotten to be around babies. Even our nieces and nephews are all older now. I’ve missed it.”

 

“Not for too long,” Santosh’s father adds. “I’m sure there will be another generation soon enough.” 

 

Will about chokes on his tongue as Amelia grips his knee to keep him in place. Santosh blushes a brighter red than Will had honestly thought him capable of. 

 

“I meant your cousins,” his father corrects, levelling him with a look. “You have college and a career to consider before anything else.”

 

There are far too many embarrassed nerves at play for Santosh to risk speaking so he just nods and shrugs like it’s obvious before getting distracted by Micah who had apparently been aiming for him all along. The baby tugs himself up, leaning against Santosh’s leg and gives a boisterous but indiscernible shout of greeting. 

 

“Yes, I am very excited to see you, too,” Santosh grins at the little boy. “Hello.” 

 

Micah babbles on and slaps his undoubtedly slobber-coated fingers against Santosh’s knees before raising both arms to be picked up. 

 

“I would hold you, but your aunt might be upset if I get my suit dirty, little guy,” Santosh tells him, instead taking his hands and holding them so he stays standing more easily.

 

“Aunt?” Santosh’s mother asks, looking between them. 

 

“It’s… ah, it’s complicated,” Santosh allows, looking a little abashed at not having explained his girlfriend’s family to her clearly. 

 

“Will is Beth’s half brother,” Amelia clarifies, taking pity on the boy. “Their mother died when Bethany was just a baby. Will and I adopted her after her father passed away just before she turned thirteen. Whether she considers herself Micah’s sister or aunt honestly depends on the day.” 

 

“Oh…” Santosh’s mother says, a thin veneer of embarrassment settling over her. “I apologize. I had thought you were her stepmother and Will her father.”

 

“A lot of people have,” Will assures her. “And Bethy doesn’t make it easier by switching up how she defines our relationships every time the mood hits her. She calls Amelia her sister-in-law in one breath and ‘Mom’ in the next. It would confuse anyone.”

 

“You are a family who supports each other through unimaginable hardship,” Santosh’s father replies. “There is nothing confusing about  _ that _ . It says a great deal about who you are and the way your Bethany has been raised and I respect it very much.”

 

It’s weird having the other man’s approval settle him some, but Will finds that it does. In truth, the few times he’s talked to Santosh’s parents or Santosh himself and hasn’t been fixated on the fact that this boy is dating Bethy, he’s liked them all. Grudgingly he can admit that if Beth  _ had _ to be dating someone, he’d be hard-pressed to find someone he approved of more than Santosh. The kid’s sweet, a nerd, actually encourages her to study and seems to genuinely hang on her every word. 

 

Which is good because when footfalls hit the stairs and Santosh stands, still holding Micah’s hand, he goes absolutely slack-jawed in awe at the sight of Bethany walking toward him. And Will is pretty sure the relationship between the two of them isn’t ending anytime soon, no matter what he thinks about it. 

 

Will’s seen her prom dress before. She showed it to him the moment she got home with it, giddy with stars in her eyes as she dreamed aloud about what prom would be like. He’s even seen her try it on and he’s more-or-less used to her wearing makeup these days. But she looks so damned grown up right now that his throat clogs and his eyes water up. 

 

_ No _ . 

 

He’s not ready for this. She can’t possibly be this old. Denial twists at his insides, leaving him nauseous and heartsick. He should be cursing out Legos beneath his breath and scrubbing pastel-colored bath crayons off the wall still. But he’s not. Pigtails and braces have given way to a truly stunning, brilliant girl who feels equal parts like his sister and his daughter. 

 

She’ll never know precisely how much she means to him. She can’t. There aren’t words and Will can’t begin to imagine how he’d express it. And while he might not be ready for her to head off to prom and graduate high school, he knows that  _ she’s _ ready. For that reason alone, he keeps his mouth shut and smiles at her as Amelia slips her hand into his and leans her cheek against his shoulder with a bone-deep sigh that resonates in him as well. 

 

They might love her like parents, but this moment isn’t about them. It’s about Beth. And it’s about Santosh. Their role is to step back and let these kids live their lives with quiet, steady guidance. Accepting that is hard. The ghost of Beth’s tiny fingers in his hand still lingers on years later and he’s pretty sure it’ll always haunt him. But he can’t begrudge her this, either. Not when this  _ boy _ looks at her like she’s his whole world and she bites her lip to smother her delight. 

 

Watching her now, it seems like maybe he’s spent his whole life not ready for the moment he’s in. When she was born, he’d been so annoyed it had taken three days before he’d even gone to see her. He wishes now that he could go back and smack his younger self upside the back of his head, tell him that that’s his little girl right there and he’s going to want to be there for every second of her life that she lets him be a part of. 

 

This one included. 

 

“Hi,” she says softly as she gets to the bottom of the stairs and stands toe-to-toe with her boyfriend. He’s still speechless, sort of looks like he might melt into the floor or possibly float away on his own little cloud of joy. 

 

Somewhere in the background, the click of a camera sounds and Will realizes that Santosh’s parents are taking photos. Thank goodness, because he’d sort of forgotten that his own camera is sitting on the coffee table unused. He wants desperately to record this moment for later, but he wants to live in it more. The camera would be a distraction. 

 

“There’s… You look…” Santosh starts before words fail him and he gives a bashful laugh. 

 

“Thank you,” she grins, holding her chin high and preening a little as she slips her hand in his. “You look… too. That’s a very nice suit on you.”

 

Santosh nods a little and swallows hard before going back to attempting words. “But you… I mean… You just look…” 

 

Ultimately he doesn’t manage any better this time around and he winds up laughing nervously at his own toes instead of finishing his sentence. 

 

“You both look wonderful,” Amelia volunteers, crouching slightly to grab Micah’s hand and guide him back to her. “You’re going to have such a wonderful time.” 

 

Will bites his tongue rather than say  _ “Not too wonderful, please _ .” 

 

Santosh lifts Bethany’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it and she smiles brilliantly, looking as at-ease and happy as Will’s ever seen her.  _ She deserves this _ , it strikes him suddenly. After everything life has thrown at her, she deserves someone as good and kind as this boy who adores her. She deserves a normal teenage experience like prom. 

 

“What time should I have her home, sir?” Santosh asks. 

 

The question jars Will and little and he finds the young man looking at him full of anxiety and excitement. The urge to say “ _ A half hour ago”  _ rears its head, but he tamps that down. Beth would kill him and he honestly doesn’t want to ruin this for her. 

 

“I think two is fine,” he replies after a moment. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise and delight on Beth’s face. It’s surely later than she’d expected. 

 

It appears to be later than Santosh’s parents expected, too. 

 

“Or perhaps midnight is more acceptable, Sani,” his father says with a very heavy look at the boy.

 

“Midnight works,” Will agrees. “Just, um…” He stops and clears his throat, fixing his eyes on Santosh. “Take care of my little girl, please.”

 

Understanding slips across Santosh’s face and he gives a solemn nod, seemingly grasping precisely the weight Will is giving this moment, the measure of trust and respect and responsibility he’s allowing the young man.

 

It doesn’t come easily.

 

“Will…” Beth sighs. But it’s an affectionate noise, one full of understanding. Maybe she  _ does _ have an inkling of how much she means to him after all. 

 

“You look stunning, Bethy,” he tells her. “I wish Mom could see you. I wish David could. They’d be blown away. I know I am.” 

 

She drops her boyfriend’s hand to wrap her arms around her brother. For just an instant, everything seems perfect in Will’s world. 

 

“I wish my dad were here,” she admits. “But you’ve given me everything I need. You and Amelia both.” 

 

He hopes that’s true. He wants it to be, more than anything, even if he sometimes lies awake second guessing himself. But he doesn’t dare speak in this moment. Instead he nods and kisses her temple gently, making sure he doesn’t muss her hair. 

 

“No drinking, okay?” he asks quietly. “And if there’s drugs or  _ anything  _ that makes you uncomfortable, you can call me from wherever you are and I’ll be there no questions asked.”

 

“I know,” she agrees, backing off and meeting his eyes. “I’ve always known I can count on you.”

 

“ _ Always _ ,” he emphasizes, needing her to understand that fully. It doesn’t matter if she’s not-quite-18 at prom or 22 and in college or 40 and married with two kids living on the other side of the country. If she needs him, he will be there for her every time. That’s his role in her life and it always will be.

 

“The limo is here,” Santosh’s mother says, glancing out the front window. “Let’s get a few nice pictures of the two of you together out front before you leave.” 

 

One moment blurs into the next. They pose for pictures in front of the flowers that line the townhouse as Micah attempts to crawl over and eat the leaves. Bethy’s laugh is a light and joyful thing even if the blatant affection in her eyes as she watches her boyfriend feels a little bit like a suckerpunch to Will’s gut. She’s still his little girl. She always will be. But it’s starkly obvious she’s not actually a little girl anymore and he doesn’t know what to do with that realization. Before he knows it, she and Santosh are headed toward the limo to leave. 

 

“Bethy,” he calls after her. It’s rare he calls her that aloud these days and rarer still that she allows it. But she does today, pausing with her hand on the open door of the limo to look back at him with a heartfelt smile. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what he’d been going to say. “Have a good time,” he tells her lamely because he can’t think of anything else. 

 

“I will,” she assures him. “Thank you. I love you. You too, Mom.” 

 

Amelia makes a strangled noise at his side but just nods at Beth with a pained smile. “We love you, too,” Amelia tells her, kissing her own fingers before waving them goodbye at Beth. 

 

She climbs into the limo and moments later it pulls away leaving Will feeling oddly empty. This is just prom, just a dance. But it feels like a window into the very near future. Graduation is just weeks away, as is her eighteenth birthday, and college looms heavily in the coming months. Before long she’ll be driving away and calling somewhere else home. Will can’t begin to imagine how they’ll cope with that, how he’ll look at Beth’s empty room and know it’s not her home anymore. 

 

He’s not ready. 

 

Micah makes a sharp noise, announcing his presence and Will scoops the little boy up into his arms, holding him close and breathing him in. 

 

“Seventeen years ‘til your prom, little man,” he whispers, kissing the top of Micah’s head. “I won’t be ready then either.”

 

Somehow, they manage to say goodbye to Santosh’s parents and make it back inside the house before anyone starts to cry. But, to Will’s surprise, it’s Amelia, not him, who dissolves in a fit of tears. 

 

All but collapsing on the sofa, she buries her face in her hands as she lets out a brutal sob. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard.” 

 

“She’s your little girl, too, honey,” he reminds her, sitting next to her with Micah on his lap and wrapping an arm around her. 

 

“The first time she called me ‘Mom’ I was so surprised I didn’t even know what to say,” she recalls. 

 

“I know,” Will remembers. “Neither of us knew how to navigate that. I loved that you were so worried about diminishing my mom’s memory somehow, but you’re still the only mom Beth’s ever known and in the end it had to be about her.”

 

“Yeah,” Amelia agrees. “But it took awhile for me to feel like I’d earned that.”

 

“I know,” he echoes again. 

 

“Now I feel like I just got to really be her mom and I’m losing her already,” Amelia confesses with a teary-eyed, one-shoulder shrug. “And I think back about all the things I could have done differently years ago,  _ decades _ ago, that would’ve given us so much more time together.”

 

“Honey, we’re past this,” he reminds her, letting Micah settle between them and taking both of her hands in his. “And Bethy doesn’t resent you for not being in her life earlier.”

 

“No,” Amelia breathes out. Her fingers shake in his hands. “But sometimes  _ I _ resent me for it.” 

 

“Amelia…” 

 

“I know,” she says with a wet sigh. 

 

“Honey, I love where we are in our lives,” he reminds her. “I can’t resent how we got here, because we’re  _ here _ .”

 

“I know,” she repeats on a sob. “I do. And I feel the same way most of the time. I just… Sometimes it hurts so much knowing I could have been there for her from the start and I robbed both of us of that. I robbed  _ all _ of us of that.”

 

Something about this doesn’t quite click for Will. They’ve been down this road before.  _ Years _ ago. This is a very old regret for her but one they’ve dealt with and the force of it today, even given the emotional nature of everything going on, is more than he would’ve expected. 

 

“Are you okay?” he asks her softly, squeezing her hands. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, shutting her eyes and swiping at her tears. “I’m exhausted. Maybe that’s making everything worse.”

 

“Well, it can’t be helping,” he agrees. “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit. Take a nap.”

 

“ _ No!” _ Micah shouts sharply. It’s the only word he’s really mastered. 

 

“Not  _ you _ ,” Will tells the little boy. “Mama needs a nap. I know you have energy to burn.”

 

“You don’t mind?” Amelia asks, looking from Will to their son and back. “He’s gonna be a handful.”

 

“Honey, there’s no way you’ll sleep tonight until Beth’s home,” Will points out. “We both know that. If you’re already exhausted, go lie down for a bit. Micah and I will have some man-to-man time together.”

 

“You’re going to eat playdough aren’t you?” she asks. 

 

“Not me  _ personally _ ,” Will replies. 

 

“Don’t let him get it in the rug, okay?” she requests, bending down to kiss the little boy before settling her palm against her husband’s cheek and leaving a lingering press of her lips to his. “Wake me if you need anything?”

 

“Not only will Micah and I be fine for the duration of your nap, but we will also make dinner,” Will informs her in a lofty tone. 

 

“It’s mac and cheese, isn’t it?” she asks, shaking her head at him. “You’re making mac and cheese.”

 

“Beth loves it and it’s good comfort food and we both kind of need that right now,” he admits. 

 

“Okay,” she agrees. “But can you add some ham to it?” 

 

“Ham?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. 

 

“Or bacon?”

 

“Really? You usually hate that.”

 

“It just sounds good,” she shrugs. “And Beth likes it better that way. She might want a snack when she gets home… Maybe she’ll even want to sit up with me and talk about her night.”

 

There’s no missing the note of hope and longing in her voice. Will doesn’t pretend it passes him by, instead leaning in and kissing her forehead. “Tonight or tomorrow, I’m sure she will. You’re her mom, Amelia. You two are as close as I could have ever hoped for. I have no doubt that she’s going to want to tell you all about."

 

* * *

 

 

_ Somewhere across town _

 

There’s something crazy about riding in a limo to prom. That’s  _ silly _ because it’s not like this is the first time Beth’s ridden in a limo - her brother is a Queen after all - but this feels different. She’s not a tag-a-long and this isn’t just the most convenient way to get her somewhere. This is  _ prom _ . And it’s about her. There’s something extra cool about that. 

 

“I want to tell you how beautiful you look but I keep not finding the right words.”

 

She grins at her corsage before looking toward her boyfriend. 

 

Before meeting him, she hadn’t known anyone could  _ be _ this earnest and she hadn’t really trusted it at first. But this is just Santosh. He’s kind and gentle, smart and honest, respectful and sweet…  _ so _ sweet. She’s pretty well head-over-heels for him in that fairytale kind of way she had spent her whole childhood dreaming about but hadn’t been sure was real until she watched her brother with Amelia. 

 

“I think you’re doing just fine with words, Sani,” she tells him, leaning against him and tangling their fingers together. She laughs, adding, “and you must have done just fine with them with my parents or Will wouldn’t have let us leave the house.”

 

“They can be scary,” he admits, sounding every inch as nervous as he should be. She tries to imagine how terrified he’d be if he knew her mom had insisted on having  _ the talk _ again this morning and given her a pile of condoms with the added comment that she hopes she won’t be in a position to need any for a few years yet. Preferably not until she’s married. 

 

_ Sorry, Amelia _ , she thinks.  _ That is definitely not my plan _ . 

 

“But Will was more welcoming today than before,” Santosh tells her, brightening a little. That’s a sure sign Amelia hadn’t told him about their little chat, Beth thinks to herself. She says nothing about that though, just smiling up at Santosh as he continues. “Maybe we’re done with the death threats and he’s decided I’m acceptable for you.”

 

“You’re more than acceptable,” she assures him. 

 

“Not to him,” Santosh points out. “No one is good enough for you to him. I like that about him. He knows how amazing you are.”

 

Beth harrumphs a little at that. Only Sani can make Will’s wildly overprotective nature seem  _ sweet _ . “He doesn’t actually  _ mean _ the threats, you know. He wouldn’t go tracking down some masks to hunt you.”

 

“It’s funny you say that because he made that very threat the first time I picked you up for a date!” Santosh says, looking stunned. 

 

Beth laughs anxiously. “Imagine that.”

 

“It’s fine, though, Bethany,” he says. “You’re worth enduring a million death threats. If he needed to see I would stick around through them all, that’s only because he loves you very much. And I’m very glad to have the chance to prove to him,  _ and _ to you, that I am not going anywhere.”

 

“You’d better not,” she grins, gripping the edges of his suit jacket and pulling herself up slightly to kiss him. “I have plans for you, Sani.”

 

“I am very bad at saying no to you,” he admits, grinning against her lips. 

 

“Yeah,” she chuckles, hovering scarcely an inch from his mouth, her breath ghosting across his lips. “I’m counting on it.”

 

*


	27. Ameliam AU (Jesi's Verse) for Libby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an alternate universe, Will and Amelia met as young teens. Years later, it's the last baseball game of Will's college career and one of the most important days of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note...
> 
> This flashfic (as well as yesterday's and next several that will be added over the next few days/weeks) were written as a thank you to several people who helped support the Remember Baby Sara campaign. This one was written for LibbyARosonet.
> 
>  **LIBBY'S PROMPT WAS AU**. Did that get everyone's attention? Good. OKAY... SO, long story short, this is AU. In more detail, this ficlet is actually set in JesiLeigh's Will You Remember Me 'verse which briefly mentions Will and Amelia. It's a fic of a fic of a fic that's a sequel to another fic. Or, as Jesi says, ficception. In her world, Amelia's mom works for Smoak Tech and Will and Amelia met when they were barely even teens. That's really the only connection and you don't have to have read more to follow it, if you haven't yet. 
> 
> Thank you both Libby for your assistance in the campaign and Jesi for... allowing me to play in your universe with my characters? I don't know how to word that, but like... THANKS REGARDLESS LOL. Enjoy, all!

A buzz of excitement fills the air as surely as the scent of fresh popcorn and newly cut grass. 

 

In some ways, it should be bittersweet. No matter how the game goes, this is the last of Will’s college career. It’s the last of his  _ baseball _ career, really. Moving on from something that’s been such a huge part of his life for so long jars him. But he wants the things he’s moving on  _ to _ even more. That brings an odd sense of balance to and notes of longing or regret trying to take root. 

 

He needs to go warm up his arm, should be spending time with his teammates. But for the moment Will takes a long beat to look out across the field and soak it all in. His dad, Felicity, and his little sister all lean against the other side of the railing next to him. He can feel their eyes on him, even without casting them a glance. 

 

“Big day for you,” his dad notes after a moment, finally earning Will’s attention for a moment. “You nervous?” 

 

He starts to answer, opens his mouth to say something, but that’s when he spots Amelia and her mom making their way down the aisle toward the two empty seats next to his family. All the words die in his throat. Whatever he’d been about to say turns meaningless. 

 

Amelia’s grinning broadly, wearing  _ his _ jersey and a school baseball cap with her long, dark ponytail threaded through the back. If he could, he’d take a snapshot of her in this moment and sear it into his memory forever. Everything seems so much clearer with her right there in front of him, so  _ right _ . 

 

“No,” he says to his father, his eyes still fixed on Amelia. “I’m not nervous. Not even a little.” 

 

His father claps him on the shoulder approvingly, but Will barely even feels it. He’s too fixated on the sight of his girlfriend fast approaching. They’ve been together since they were old enough to date and she’s never once failed to take his breath away. His teammates think that makes him a sap. His sister thinks it’s sort of gross. His stepmom says it’s sweet. His father just points out that he’s nowhere near ready to be a grandfather yet. Will takes all of them in stride. Amelia makes him happy. She’s his best friend and confidant, the only one who’s ever made his heart race and his skin tingle with excitement. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters. 

 

“You should be warming up, Queen,” she says when she closes in on them, leaning against the railing and curling her whole body toward his. 

 

“I needed a good luck kiss, first,” he replies with a cheeky grin. 

 

“You do not,” she laughs. But she closes in and leaves a lingering press of her lips to his anyhow. Her fingers clench at the front of his uniform as she sighs contentedly against his mouth. His head’s spinning by the time she backs off. “Your ERA is a 1.97. You have a WHIP of 1.25. You went 9-1 as starting pitcher last year. You don’t need luck.”

 

Will groans aloud. “I love when you talk stats.” 

 

It’s true  _ now _ . It had been something of a problem back at age fifteen when his father’s advice about reciting baseball statistics in his head to calm himself down had absolutely been thwarted by Amelia’s extensive and enthusiastic love of baseball. Those early teenage years had been  _ rough _ . 

 

“Well, you have great stats to talk about,” she grins, smoothing out his uniform. “You could probably go pro if you wanted to. This is gonna be a good game, but you don’t need luck to get you through it.”

 

She’s right. He could have gone pro. He’d had interest from more than one scout. But, in the end, he’d realized he didn’t really want that life. Travelling around the country playing games while he was in college is one thing. A career that has him on the road more often than not is another. No, the life he wants is right here.

 

“The good luck kiss wasn’t for the game,” he tells her with a mischievous half-smile. She quirks a confused eyebrow in surprise. “I’m saving it for later,” he adds.

 

“For?” she asks when he doesn’t elaborate. 

 

“You’ll see,” he replies, taking her hand and kissing her fingers as he watches her. “Promise.”

 

“Okay…” she says with a scrunched nose and a confused smile. 

 

With a wink, he lets go of her hand and steps back, turning to head over to where his coach his shouting his name. 

 

“ _ Break a leg, but not for real!” _ his little sister shouts after him. He chuckles under his breath as he trots over to his coach with the world’s biggest grin on his face. 

 

“You’d think she’d already said yes,” his coach says with a gruffness that is definitely not heartfelt. The man’s a big softie. 

 

“Not yet,” Will counters, darting his eyes back to where Amelia’s sitting next to his stepmother and tugging on the bill of his little sister’s baseball cap playfully. The seven-year-old grins an adoring, toothy smile in return. “Soon, though. Really soon.”

 

The ring around the chain on his neck burns against his chest beneath his uniform. He can’t  _ wait _ to give it to her. He’s hyper-aware of the thing and he’d been more than a little terrified that Amelia would find it accidentally when kissing him just a few moments before. It would’ve thrown his plans out the window, but he’d have dropped to one knee right there even if it meant getting a stale beer stain on his knee right before the game. 

 

But, given the choice, he’s rather  _ win _ the game for her first. 

 

“Get that arm ready, Queen,” his coach instructs. “We’ve got you starting for a reason.”

 

As it turns out, they’ll have him finishing for the same reason. He has to fight for it. He gives up two hits in a row in the seventh inning and they want to pull him then, but he knows he’s got more in him to give and he wants to be there ‘til the end for his team. A second-wind borne entirely of dedication and personal drive keeps him going even when his arm feels like jelly and his pitches slow just enough to make him anxious. 

 

Amelia is, too. He can see that. Her eyes flit from him up to the scoreboard, probably tracking the speed of his pitches and recalculating his pitching stats in her head, which should really not be as hot as it is. And yet… 

 

He shakes off thoughts of her. She’d be livid if he lost focus and mucked up the game because of her. He swears he can pick her voice out in the crowd, though, cheering him on. That’s probably not true. It’s a big game and the ballpark is packed, but the illusion fuels him anyhow. 

 

Enough to make it through two more innings. 

 

Eeking out a win isn’t easy, but they manage it. With a one-run lead in the top of the ninth, a full count and a man on third, Will manages to make the batter chase a curveball, ending the game with a swing and a miss. The crowd  _ roars _ with an energy he’s never seen replicated anywhere else and his team rushes the mound, cheering in unified joy and a stark sense of triumph. 

 

They fought for this. They earned it. 

 

As usual, some of their more ardent fans rush the field. Also as usual, Amelia’s amongst them. The only difference this time is that his team knows what’s up. They create something of a bubble around him after letting Amelia through. She’s in his arms, proud and joyful as she kisses him fiercely. 

 

She’s a tall woman, nearly as tall as him, but he lifts her up anyhow. She leans down and laughs against his lips, cradling his face with her palms as her legs wrap around his waist.  Everything is right in this moment. He’s exactly where he wants to be with his whole world right there in his arms. 

 

“Told you you didn’t need luck,” she reminds him, stroking her thumbs across the scruff on his cheeks. 

 

He swallows hard. This is his opening and he knows it. A flutter of nerves hits him for the first time all day, but they fizzle out under her easy touch and soft eyes. Maybe she’s right. Maybe he hadn’t needed luck. Not for the game and not for this either. 

 

Nerves must show on his face, though, because she casts him a quizzical look and lowers herself to the ground. The second she’s standing, he grabs her hands and lowers himself down to one knee. 

 

He sees the moment realization hits her. Her eyes go huge and her jaw drops. One of them is shaking. He’s not even sure who, but their joined hands practically vibrate with some mixture of excitement and nerves. 

 

“Amelia, I knew the moment I met you that you were special,” he tells her. “We were kids still, but I was head-over-heels for you before I had any idea what that meant. Our first date was to a game, even if neither of us called it a date at the time. I don’t think I watched more than a minute of it. I was too busy watching you. But that was still the most important game of my life. Even more than this one. Because you let me hold your hand for the first time and you blushed when you asked if I wanted to share your drink-”

 

“Will…” she manages in a hoarse voice. 

 

“I can’t tell you when I fell in love with you,” he admits, fumbling with the necklace beneath his uniform and tugging the ring off it. “Maybe it was the time I tried to make you a birthday cake and forgot to add sugar, but you ate it anyhow. Maybe it was when you did that ridiculous dance after your fantasy team beat mine. Maybe it was when you told me whatever school I picked you’d go with me because you can get a degree anywhere, but there’s only one me. Or maybe it was one of a million other times you’ve been my partner and made my life better. But what I can tell you is that there’s not a doubt in my mind that I want to spend every day for the rest of my life finding more reasons I love you. Because I know for certain that there are still so many to discover. Amelia, will you-”

 

“Yes!” she interrupts him, finding her voice. 

 

He’s not exactly stunned at her response - they’ve been together for what feels like their whole lives at this point - but he’s a little jarred at hearing it before he gets the question out. Still, the idea that she can’t even wait for the whole question before she answers is incredible. 

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” she says again, crashing down onto her knees in front of him and kissing him like there isn’t an entire ballpark cheering them on. 

 

He’s far too caught up in her to notice anything else. Not the fact that they’re on the kiss cam on the big screen or that his teammates are whooping somewhat indecently or the roar of the crowd. And he definitely doesn’t see her mother crying happily or Felicity jumping up and down in excitement as she hits his father’s arm repeatedly or the quiet look of happy approval gracing his father’s face. Later, he’ll see all that. It’ll be splashed across ESPN’s website and make no less than four Buzzfeed articles as well as the school paper. But in spite of everyone else, this moment is about him and Amelia and no one else. 

 

“You gonna let me ask?” he questions when she finally pulls back a little. Her eyes absolutely sparkle. He wants to see them like that every day. He wants to wake up to that sight and fall asleep with it and spend his whole life making her as happy as she is in this moment. 

 

“You gonna give me that ring?” she questions, raising an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, his voice going gritty and rough. “I am definitely giving you the ring.”

 

“Good,” she agrees with a little shiver, holding out her left hand to him. 

 

“Amelia Prescott,” he says, pausing to lick his lips and hold up the ring. “There is nothing in this world that would make me happier than if you’d let me be your best friend, partner, lover and husband. Will you marry me?”

 

“Yes,” she says again. He barely gets the ring on her finger before she’s nearly knocking him over kissing him again. She doesn’t even stop to look at it. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” she breathes out between eager kisses that leave his head spinning. It’s a few minutes before she pulls back and strokes the sides of his face again, her eye finally catching on the ring adorning her finger. “You can ask me a million times and I’ll say the same thing to every single one of them.  _ This _ is what you need a good luck kiss for? We don’t need luck for this. All we need is each other.” 

 

With knees digging into the red clay dirt of the pitcher’s mound, covered in grass stains and sweat, his arm aching even as his heart soars, Will realizes with absolute certainty that she’s completely right. Luck may have played a part in how the first met on that _Take Your Child To Work_ _Day_ all those years ago, but that’s where it had begun and ended. Everything since them is just them. It’s friendship and love, faith and joy, unwavering support and blinding attraction. There is nothing of luck in that. 

 

“Well, we have each other,” he reminds her, brushing his nose against hers. “Now and always.”

 

“Now and always,” she echoes in agreement. 

 

And despite luck having nothing at all to do with it, he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

 

 


	28. April 2042

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompt - "Those new photos of the model you picked as Amelia trying on clothes, I need Amelia send them to Will!"
> 
> NSFW. Written in about 3 hours yesterday. Mostly unedited. (I promise this is where we're heading)

**April 2042**

 

Using a personal shopper feels like a throwback to another life for Amelia. Back when she’d been Chief of Staff in Central City, she’d done so regularly. Her job had demanded a certain level of presentation - something Moira had taught her even longer ago. And, in spite of having a pretty good sense of style herself, she’d been a very, very busy woman. Turning to an expert and delegating putting together her look had been just another element of her job.

 

Things are different now. _She’s_ different now. It’s better by far, but using a personal shopper is neither part of her routine nor part of her budget anymore.

 

At least not usually.

 

Working with Alice, a willowy, forty-something woman with blunt bangs and jet-black hair, had come at Felicity’s suggestion. And while Amelia is certain that it truly _had_ been a suggestion and not some kind of veiled critique, she also isn’t about to turn down her future mother-in-law’s insistent offer to use her personal shopper and stylist.

 

In truth, it was probably a good idea. With Jules and Alex’s wedding six weeks away and her own coming up just two months later, public interest in the Queen family has spiked. Tabloid coverage is ridiculous and even though her wedding is going to be low-key and easy-going, Jules’ is _not_. A tremendous affair with a guest list including everyone of note in Starling City, there will be no shortage of media hounding or public interest. If it were just her, Amelia would be perfectly comfortable throwing together outfits for everything on her own.

 

But it’s not. She’s Will’s fiance. That makes her a part of the Queens. Not as front-and-center as Jules, of course, but noteworthy none-the-less. And if Felicity Queen is recommending a personal shopper… Well, Amelia’s not fool enough to turn that down.

 

Alice seems great, too. But that doesn’t mean Amelia doesn’t wish she had a friend along for a second opinion.

 

“You don’t think this is a little too attention grabbing?” Amelia asks, turning and inspecting her form in the mirror. She really _does_ like the dress. She’s liked all of the dresses. It’s kind of a problem.

 

“It’s a bold color,” Alice agrees, tapping her pointy chin with one perfectly manicured nail. “But you pull it off beautifully and it’ll photograph well.”

 

“For the rehearsal dinner, though?” Amelia asks, pulling her shoulders back and pushing up on the balls of her feet as if she’s wearing heels.

 

“You’re not going to draw attention off of Jules, if that’s your concern,” Alice promises. “I’ve got her in a custom scarlet red piece by Gia Cordona with matching lipstick and nude pumps. You look phenomenal, but you’re not pulling eyes from the bride. Now… when it comes to _your_ wedding…”

 

Amelia rolls her eyes and gives the woman a look. “I don’t want a production. I don’t need a custom designer dress that costs more than three month’s worth of my mortgage. I’m getting married at a _campground_.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Alice agrees. Amelia has the distinct sense that the other woman is fighting a wince at the idea. If she is, she does so very convincingly. “But that doesn’t preclude an elegant picnic look.”

 

“I just want to marry him,” Amelia replies, laughing lightly. “The rest of it doesn’t matter. Not to me.”

 

Once upon a time, she’d dreamt of fancy white dresses and three-tiered cakes. The groom’s face had always been a blur. Now that it’s crisp in her mind’s eye, she finds the rest has faded away. All she needs is him standing before her holding her hands and giving her that soft smile he reserves for when he really means it. Just the thought of it makes her heart beat faster. They’d have married weeks after he proposed if it weren’t for everything going on with his family and not wanting to steal the spotlight from Jules.

 

“All the more reason to leave the details to me,” Alice shrugs with a toothy smile. It makes her seem a decade or two younger and Amelia shakes her head in amusement as she looks back toward the mirror. “Look, you’ve got some solid options in there. How about I go find a few more. You take your time and think them over.”

 

“Okay,” Amelia agrees, even though she’s pretty sure no amount of thinking about it is going to lead her to a confident decision.

 

“I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Alice reminds her, her features shifting to a serious look. “There are no bad options in there. But the right option is the one that makes you _feel_ good.”

 

That’s true. The power suits and business dresses she wore like armor years ago come to mind. It had all been about adopting the right sense of self. This is, too, but she’s far less certain of what Julianna Queen’s soon-to-be sister-in-law looks like at a formal event than she is what the chief of staff for the mayor looks like.

 

“Thank you,” she smiles at Alice before turning back to face the mirror fully as the other woman drifts back to her stock in the back rooms.

 

For what has to be the fifth time today, Amelia wishes Beth hadn’t been busy today. The eleven-year-old has never been short on opinions in her entire life. Amelia’s sure of it. But she’s at the coast with friends for the weekend. And Maggie’s family is visiting her in-laws in China while Celeste is hiking the Appalachian trail with her new boyfriend. Not for the first time, Amelia wonders if maybe she should’ve asked Jules or Ellie to come along. Or even Felicity. But they’re all so _busy_ and this is such a small thing. She hadn’t wanted to bother them.

 

Chewing her lip, Amelia pulls out her cellphone and snaps a selfie of the current dress - a bold, blue thing that fits like a glove - and texts it to the only person who’s opinion really matters to her.

 

A response comes through immediately.

 

_WQ: hi. hello. im here._

 

She really should’ve known. Amelia doesn’t even bother fighting a grin as she shakes her head.

 

_AP: Aren’t you in a meeting?_

 

_WQ: yeah but this is better_

 

A mental image of his rakish grin and bright eyes flits through her imagination and quite suddenly Amelia finds herself longing for his company through more than a pair of phone screens.

 

_AP: You like it, then? For Jules and Alex’s rehearsal dinner?_

 

_WQ: hmm…_

 

He actually leaves it at that and a swipe of uncertainty races through her.

 

_AP: Is it too much??? I’m not sure a halter is the right way to go._

 

_WQ: can’t see the neckline that well in the shot u sent. maybe send another?_

 

She doesn’t even think about it before taking another picture and sending to him. In fact, she’s so very earnest about it that she waits for a response, chewing on the edge of her nail.

 

_WQ: ...damn_

 

_AP: Is that a good ‘damn’??_

 

_WQ: dunno. maybe zoom in a bit more and send it again. what’s the fabric feel like? r u wearing a bra w/ that?_

 

For a long moment, Amelia just blinks at her phone. That man...

 

_AP: This isn’t sexting, Will! This is fashion._

 

_WQ: it can’t be both? i’m multitasking_

 

_AP: ...Will_

 

_WQ: send another 1? u got more dresses to show me. i know u do._

 

This isn’t something she does. Not _ever_. Texting pictures for opinions on what to buy is one thing. Sending them to tease her fiance is another. But something about Will has brought out the risk-taker in Amelia over these past few years. And her life is better for it.

 

Shutting the fitting room door, she tugs off the dress and pulls on another. This one has a row of tiny buttons straight up the front and she pops the top two before surveying herself in the mirror, arranging her hair. After a moment’s thought, she undoes one more button and drapes the fabric outward, showing off a whole lot of cleavage. Her nerves falter a little, but with a giddy rush of excitement, she bunches up the fabric at her leg on one side, exposing a fair bit of skin, and snaps a full body shot.

 

The send button gets hit before she lets herself second guess her choice but it takes a moment longer than she expects for Will to reply.

 

_WQ: ...holy shit_

 

_AP: You like it?_

 

_WQ: i like you. god ur hot. i’m making this my lock screen._

 

_AP: Don’t you dare!_

 

_WQ: ur right. u should free a few more buttons and take another shot. i’ll use that as my lock screen._

 

_AP: Aren’t you in a meeting?_

 

_WQ: hell no. not anymore. this is more important_

 

She should protest that, should point out that he only meets with the people managing his untouched trust fund once a year as it is and only because they demand it. But she’s as single-minded as him today, it seems, because instead of a photo she takes a short video clip of her staring at the camera as she undoes the next two buttons, leaving her dangerously close to spilling out of the top entirely.

 

_WQ: oh fuck. that. buy that._

 

_AP: For the rehearsal dinner?_

 

_WQ: for after the rehearsal dinner, honey. i gotta undo every one of those buttons myself_

 

_AP: That’s six weeks away. Like you’re waiting a month and a half?_

 

_WQ: one way to find out_

 

_AP: You think you’re so clever, don’t you?_

 

_WQ:_

 

_AP: Something tells me if I buy this dress it won’t survive the six weeks._

 

_WQ: i promise to take my time & undo every button very, very slowly _

 

Well, that’s lovely and all but it also gives Amelia _thoughts_. Delightful thoughts, but ones that leave her a little antsy with no outlet at the moment. She should’ve known better than to bait him. It was headed toward a mounting sense of unresolved sexual frustration from that very first shot she’d sent him.

 

She just hadn’t realized it yet.

 

A solid rap on her fitting room door has Amelia jumping and letting out an actual squeak as her phone clatters to the floor.

 

“Sorry, Alice, just a minute,” she says in a thin, strained voice.

 

“Not Alice, and I promise this is gonna take more than a minute.”

 

“ _Will_?” Amelia asks in a stunned voice.

 

“God, I should hope so,” he replies. “Coming from anyone else that would be incredibly inappropriate.”

 

She cracks open the door to lock disbelieving eyes with him. Which is a _mistake_ because wow does he look delightful. He’s wearing an actual suit and his pupils are blown wide with obvious arousal that washes over her like an intense gust of air the moment they’re looking at each other.

 

“It’s inappropriate from you, too,” she forces herself to say, rubbing her fingers against the overheated skin of her neck. “It’s a ladies fitting room, Will. You can’t be here.”

 

“All evidence to the contrary,” he replies, wholly unbothered, pressing against the door lightly.

 

She steps back just far enough to admit him into the little room, the two of them moving in concert. The air feels thick, heavy, and Amelia is suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of her own skin. All of it tingles with a delicious sense of anticipation, with the way she knows electricity will race along her nerve endings at the barest touch from him. It’s why she tries to maintain the barest distance between them.

 

“Alice will be back,” she murmurs.

 

“She won’t,” Will counters, hovering just inches from her but making no move to close the gap just yet. “She’s busy.”

 

“But she’s been gone a while, Will. She’ll check on me. She-”

 

“She’s in the back looking for options for Bethy for the rehearsal dinner because I asked her to very, _very_ nicely. She knows you need more time to mull over the dresses along with some input from me.” He finishes his statement before apparently replaying his words over in his head and grinning wolfishly at his own innuendo. She’s almost positive it wasn’t planned. “You could use some _input_ from me, couldn’t you?”

 

“William,” she chastises with no real weight.

 

“Amelia,” he counters in the same tone before letting his eyes slip down her form, drinking in the sight of her in.  He blows air through his thinned lips, appreciation clear on his face as he gaze traces her curves. But it isn’t until he reaches out to run his fingers along her skin at the edge of the parted fabric that her flimsy grasp of control snaps entirely.

 

“We don’t have long,” she informs him, pushing gently but firmly against his chest until he winds up falling into the oversized armchair behind him.

 

“That probably works in my favor right now,” he admits as she slides her panties off and straddles him. But that’s where words end for the moment, because her lips fuse against his with a searing heat that leaves a ripple effect of shock echoing through her.

 

In spite of his insistence about the buttons, it’s her thighs his hands go for first, both of them sliding up her legs until he reaches her hips and tugs her closer. She groans and nips at his lips in response. Her hands bracket his face as she kisses him with every ounce of the fast-building sense of want that’s been concentrating inside her this afternoon. She wants… She wants everything. She wants _him_. In every possible way. Here and now, tomorrow and at home, every day from here on out no matter what challenges life throws their way.

 

But in the here and now, just kissing definitely isn’t enough.

 

After a moment, her hands leave his face and push his suit jacket off his shoulders. It forces him to move his hands, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the least because once he’s free of his jacket, he’s fulfilling the promise of reaching for next pair of buttons on the dress she’s now definitely going to buy. At the same time, she’s reaching for his belt and fly. Busy personal shopper or not, they _definitely_ don’t have a whole lot of time.

 

He must be thinking along the same wavelength because he’s shifting to let her tug his pants down without a word. It’s awkward, but only for a moment because the second his cock is free, she takes it in hand and eases herself down on him.

 

Will lets out a low moan, thudding his head back against the wall as Amelia braces her hands against his shoulders, using them for leverage as she works herself up and down atop him.

 

“ _Amelia_ ,” he breathes out like a prayer as his hands reach beneath her dress again, this time smoothing over the curve of her ass.

 

This is _crazy_. Carefree and wild, damned near public. She’s not even sure he locked the door. It’s the kind of thing couples do in their early twenties. Only she never had. She’s never possessed this lack of inhibition, never thrown caution to the wind and let herself get swept away by the moment. Not until him.

 

Now, it feels like she couldn’t possibly do anything else.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses out, a long, low, gutteral noise that escapes her as she picks up the pace.

 

They’d both been keyed up since well before he showed up at the fitting room door. The flush of color high on his cheeks tells her that he’s already painfully close, but she isn’t far behind him. This angle is amazing. She’s wet enough that the glide of his body in hers is effortless. And something about the fear of potential discovery heightens things in a way she hadn’t really anticipated.

 

Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she revels in the sensation of his hands on her body, of the way he sets every single nerve ending alight. But when she opens her eyes, she finds him looking to the side. Following his gaze, she finds the pair of them staring back at her from the dressing room mirror. And - for a split second - she thinks she sees herself the way he sees her. There’s something painfully gorgeous about the two of them together, bodies intertwined, lost in a swirl of sensation and pending bliss. He must agree because he meets her eyes in the mirror with a quiet moan and a flex of his fingers against her ass as he thrusts up into her.

 

Knowing he’s watching her like that - watching _them_ \- fuels her in a new way. She turns back to face him and bites the end of his earlobe, tugging gently as her fingernails dig into his shoulders.

 

“Oh… oh _fuck_ , Amelia,” he whines.

 

It’s loud enough that she lets go and grabs his face with both hands, turning him back to face her so she can seal their lips together and cage his voice.

 

Not a moment too soon, either. A sharp series of gasps from him pull the air from her lips as his hips go jerky beneath her and his fingers spasm, gripping a little too tightly against her ass. A second later, she’s tumbling after him, crying out as her thighs quiver and her body sings in concert with his.

 

Head swimming and body soaring, it takes a few minutes for her to come back to herself. When she does, the air feels cooler against her sweat-slickened skin and Will is trailing his fingers up and down the line of her exposed breastbone, his eyes fixed on the trail of his fingers.

 

“I love you so much,” he says in a quiet voice, leaning forward to kiss the skin he’s been stroking. “You’re the best part of my life and I can’t wait to marry you.”

 

“Four months,” she murmurs, dipping her head to kiss his temple. “I love you, too. You bring so much joy to my life, Will. I can’t wait to be your wife.”

 

“Think Alice is ordained?” he asks, looking up at her and offering an impish grin.

 

“Will Queen,” she shakes her head. “Our mothers would never forgive us if we eloped.”

 

“Had to ask,” he shrugs one shoulder. “Guess we’ll just have to enjoy four more months of being engaged first.”

 

“Guess we will,” she agrees.

 

“With this dress?” he questions, flicking at the loose fabric.

 

“It’d be rude not to buy it at this point,” she says.

 

“Maybe that was my plan all along,” he suggests.

 

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” she laughs, patting his chest as she eases herself off him. “Come on, my love. Let’s get ourselves put together and get this dress home.”

 

“Where you’ll wear it again and this time I’ll spend more time with those buttons?” he questions.

 

“You and the buttons…” she chuckles, shaking her head as she reaches for the dress she came to the store in and starts to change.

 

“That’s not a no,” he points out, standing and tucking himself back inside his pants.

 

“No,” she agrees, tossing a playful grin over her shoulder at him. “It’s not.”

 

 


	29. November 2039

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jules and Alex's relationship turns heads and people come to their own conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd been toying with doing something in this vein for a while and after the heavier chapters of Pieces of Always the last two weeks, I thought now might be a good time to bring a little levity. This is - by far - the shortest thing I've written in this 'verse. If I had any graphics skills at all, this would've been presented in a completely different (and way more fun) style. But I still think it's cute and a lovely little distraction from the real world that a lot of us might need about now. Enjoy!

 

 

**Starling City Star**

 

‘Royal’ Wedding In The Works? Julianna Queen Steps Out With New Man… 

_ And Friends Think He’s ‘The One!’ _

 

By Starling City Staff, November 13, 2039

 

After a rough couple of months for the Queen family, there could be some good news on the horizon for Starling City’s most beloved socialites. 

 

Julianna Queen, oldest daughter of Senator Oliver Queen and Queen Inc CEO Felicity Queen, most frequently known as ‘Jules’, hasn’t been seen in public with a beau since her boyfriend’s tragic murder three years ago. But the twenty-four year old troublemaker-turned-artist has caught the eye of our cameras lately with quite the hottie keeping her company. 

 

From a liplock outside her art studio(!) to leaving his place in the morning wearing his shirt(!!) to bringing him along for family dinner at her parents’ house(!!!), it seems like Jules is rarely without her man.

 

And who would be? Take a look at the guy!

 

We’ve discovered that Alejandro ‘Alex’ Castillo, Jr., her arm candy, is not only a firefighter but the coworker and best friend of her older half-brother, Will Queen. Whether the two leaned on each other and it turned to romance in the wake of Will’s shooting (see page 14 for more details) or this has been going on for some time remains unclear. But sources tell us it’s the real deal. 

 

“Oh Em Gee… have you seen him?” a close friend asks. “He’s delicious. Who wouldn’t eat him up. Listen, my girl Jules has way too much sense to let a man like that slip through her fingers. I know that for a fact. She’s very, very satisfied, if you know what I mean.”

 

It’s an opinion all of their acquaintances seem to share. 

 

“I would say it seems very serious,” another friend tells us. “You can see it in her art. Jules has always been an expressive painter. Anyone can see the change in her through her newest works.”

 

Despite the age difference between them - he’s ten years her senior! - people close to them say they’re perfectly matched and totally in love. 

 

“Nah, listen, this ain’t like he was just crushing on his buddy’s baby sister,” a longtime friend of Alex’s tells us. “There’s all kinds of real feelings there. He’s crazy about her. And anyhow, she was the one who went after him first… But probably I shouldn’t talk about that so much.”

 

Whether their relationship is just a few weeks old or a whole lot longer - he’s been coworkers with her brother for nearly a decade - their romance has clearly been heating up. 

 

Two weeks ago, Jules was spotted in a local flower store, and the couple was seen last weekend window shopping at some of Starling City’s finest jewelry designers. No word on if the couple bought anything, but odds look good that they’ll be making a big announcement soon. 

 

Now… Do we spy a baby bump?! Stick with us for more as it develops, Starling! We’ve got you covered from cover-to-cover. 

 

 

* * *

 

“...Did they call me fat?  _ Seriously _ ? I live half my life in leather.”

 

“They’re crazy, carino. You gotta know that. Obviously they’re crazy, look at this.”

 

“I’m looking. I’m looking… and possibly suing.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For… being trashy.”

 

“Chula, that ain’t a crime.”

 

“Tempest might not share that opinion.”

 

“You can’t go usin’ your whip on reporters. For like… a whole lotta reasons.”

 

“Pfft… ‘reporters.’”

 

“Be annoyed all you want, chica. There ain’t a whole lot they got wrong. An’ I’m pretty sure they didn’t make up any of those quotes.”

 

“Martin is  _ not _ getting a Christmas bonus.”

 

“He called me delicious and said you were satisfied and had sense. I kinda think you oughta give him two bonuses.”

 

“ _ Alex _ …”

 

“I ain’t wrong.”

 

“Okay, how about we compromise and I just don’t take away the bonus I already promised?”

 

“See? Look at us bein’ reasonable and you not at all freakin’ out about people thinking we’re getting married and havin’ kids.”

 

“Oh… give it time.”

 

“Anybody who knows us is gonna know better. And we don’t gotta play by anybody else’s timetable. Forget them.”

 

“My mom’s gonna know I’m getting her jewelry for Hanukkah. I really wanted to surprise her.”

 

“Tell her it’s for Ellie. Did Will like the flowers we sent? I didn’t ask him.”

 

“He said they smelled good and they didn’t make him sneeze, which I think is guy-code for liking them.”

 

“It is.”

 

“You gonna talk to Javi about opening his mouth with reporters or should I do it?” 

 

“I’m already down one man on the truck. Can’t afford to lose another. I’ll talk to him… You know there ain’t no way he talked knowin’ it was a reporter, right?”

 

“I’m sure it was a pretty girl buying him lots of beer and asking about work and he just got to talking. I know how he is. That’s part of why we need to talk to him now.”

 

“You got a point there, chica… Do I wanna know who the art critic was?” 

 

“Definitely not. But we also don’t need to worry about him saying anything else. He doesn’t  _ know _ anything else.”

 

“Good. We got a plan today? Wanna hit the lair an’ see what’s up?”

 

“Actually… I think I’d like to swing by my lawyer’s.”

 

“Chica, I already told you there ain’t nothin’ here you can sue over.”

 

“Not for that. I want to swing by my lawyers and then browse wedding gowns while wearing a baggy sweater.”

 

“You wanna troll the media. That’s how you wanna spend our day off.”

 

“Can you think of a better way?”

 

“...”

 

“Out of bed, I mean.” 

 

“Dunno, I’m a fan of this sofa. An’ the shower. And the pool ain’t bad either.”

 

“ _ Alex _ .”

 

“I’m kiddin’. Let’s do it. Just… lemme call my mom and explain first.”

 

  
  



End file.
